A'BOOK-OF'THE 
COUNTFOT-AND 
THE' GARDEN^ 


H'M'BATSON 


GIFT  OF 
A.    F.    Morrison 


A  BOOK  OF  THE  COUNTRY 
AND  THE  GARDEN 


BY  THE   SAME   AUTHOR 

DARK  :    A  TALE   OF  THE   DOWN   COUNTRY 
ADAM  THE  GARDENER 
THE  EARTH   CHILDREN 

IN   CONJUNCTION   WITH    E.  D.  ROSS 
A  COMMENTARY  ON   THE   RUBA'lYAT  OF   OMAR   KHAYYAM 


THE  WILD  GARDEN  IN  JUNE 


A  BOOK  OF 

THE  COUNTRY  AND 

THE  GARDEN 


BY 

H.    M.    BATSON 


WITH   72   ILLUSTRATIONS   BY 
F.    CARRUTHERS  GOULD   AND  A.    C.    GOULD 


NEW    YORK 
E.    P.   BUTTON    &    CO. 

1903 


GIFT  OF 

S  o*J 


TO 

MY   SISTER 
ANNIE   L.    M.    KYNASTON 


M102501 


PREFACE 

THE  concluding  pages  for  the  month  of  June 
appeared  in  an  extended  form  as  an  article 
on  "  The  Vogue  of  the  Garden  Book "  in  the 
Nineteenth  Century  Review  for  June,  1900 ;  the 
description  of  the  May-day  revels  is  condensed 
from  a  story  in  the  Cornhill  Magazine  of  June, 
1897  '•>  tne  incident  of  Meshach  Werge's  treasure 
appeared  in  the  number  of  In  Town  for  January, 
1897  J  and  four  other  short  sketches  have  been 
published  in  The  Country  and  the  St.  James  s 
Gazette. 

To  the  editors  of  those  periodicals  I  beg  to  offer 
my  thanks  for  their  kind  permission  to  use  the 
articles  or  portions  of  them  here. 

I  am  grateful  also  to  two  friends  for  help  in  the 
chapters  on  the  country  and  garden  in  autumn. 

H.   M.   B. 

HOE  BENHAM 

November,  1902 


CONTENTS 


MARCH  .  .  i 

APRIL  ...  27 

MAY  .  .  60 

JUNE  .  91 

JULY  .  .  .                                     •     115 

AUGUST  .  -137 

SEPTEMBER  .  .  .             -  .                     .162 

OCTOBER  .  .  .186 

NOVEMBER  .  .  .                                     .211 

DECEMBER  .  .  .     242 

JANUARY  •     271 

FEBRUARY  .  •     290 

INDEX  .  .  .            .        .     312 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


THE  WILD  GARDEN  IN  JUNE               .  .  .   Frontispiece 

HEADPIECE                .                                      ,    .  .  ...  I 

EVERYWHERE  THERE  ARE  SPRING   BULBS  .  ...  3 

COTTAGE  AND  ANNEXE          .                      .  .  .                 .           .  15 

STERCULUS   PICUMNUS            .                     .  .  .                .           .  l8 

ENTER  THE   CARRIER  EXPECTANT  OF  ORDERS  .         to  face  page  19 

"I'VE  SEEN  A   PIG   IN   A   GARDEN"     .  '.  .                 .            .  21 

"I'VE   FIGURED   IT  ALL  OUT"                .  .  ...  23 

HEADPIECE                .                      .                      .  .  ...  27 

ANEMONES  AND  STANDARD   ROSES       .  .  ...  30 

DAFFODILS   IN   THE  WILD  GARDEN     .  .  ...  32 


DORONICUMS   IN  A  GRASSY   PLACE 


34 


LYDIA   DIG                                                              .  .  ...  39 

"MAY  i.  c.  u.  HOME,  MY  DEAR?"  .  .  ...  45 

THE  NIGHT-JAR  .              .              .  .  ...  51 

YOUNG  CUCKOO  EJECTING  HIS  FOSTER-BRETHREN  .           •        •  53 

THE  CUCKOO        .              .              .  .  ...  58 

MAID  MARIAN  AND  FRIAR  TUCK      .  .  ...  63 

"WHAT  DO  HE  SAY,  BETTY?"          .  .  ...  64 

THE   PARISH   CLERK   AS   BELLMAN        .  .                               to  face  page  64 

THE  CONSEQUENCES   WERE  OBVIOUS  .  .  ...  66 

TOMMY   SANDFORD                      ....  68 

DUCKS   AND  HENS,    AND  A   PIG  OR   TWO  .  .                 .            .  69 

WHITE  WEED   IN   A  GROVE                        .  .  73 

TUBS  AND   HANGING   BASKETS                 .  .  ...  76 

AN   INTRUDER         .                      .                      .  .  77 

THE  JERRY-BUILDER                .                      .  .  ...  78 

THE   NIGHTINGALE                                          .  .  .                .           .  8l 

PETUNIA                     .                     .                     .  .  ...  83 

A   LEAN   COUNTRYMAN                          *       .  .  .                .           .  86 

SHE  SAID  IT  WAS  TIME  TO  GO          .  .  .       to  face  page  87 

CLIMBING   ROSES  .                      .                      .  .  ...  93 

THE   BORDERS  ARE   LOOKING   GAY       .  .                               U  face  page  94 

xi 


xii  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

FLOWERS  IN  THE  GRASS     .                 .                .  .     to  face  page    98 

HAYMAKERS              .                      .                      .                      .  99 

A   GIRL   CAME   UP  THE  STRAIGHT   PATH                .  .       to  face  page    112 

EATS   ALL  THE   BLOOMS   HE   CAN   REACH               .  .                 .            .       Il8 

EVENING    PRIMROSES   IN   THE   WILD   GARDEN     .  .       119 

REVELLERS                .                      i                                       _.  •            •       121 

"THE  HEIGHT  OF  A  SHA-A-FT"       .  .        .     122 

"NOT  FROM  THEIR  MOOTHER "        .              .  .        .     125 

"THIS  HERE  SKETCH  IS  UP  TO  DATE"  .        .128 

"IN  MA  PAWKET"             .  •        •     I33 

CHOIR-BOYS               .                     .  •       135 

REMNANTS   OF   FOLK   LAND                       .                     .  .            .       14! 

SMILING   BY   THE   ROADSIDE                                            .  .       155 

A   CAP   IN   SHREDS  .           -157 

A  MOVING  ORATOR             .              .  .     159 

"MY  COUSIN,  MR.  JERVIS"              .  .        .     167 

MR.  GRISKIN  THE  BUTCHER              .  ...     195 

"WE  ALWAYS  LOOKS  AFTER  THE  SEX"          .  .           .  '     .     196 

HE   HAD   OMITTED  TO  TOUCH   HIS   HAT                 .  .       to  face  page    198 

"AND  I'M  NOT  LOVING  YOU  NOW".               .  .           .        .     199 

"IS    IT   ME   YOU   WANT  TO   SEE?"        .                      .  ...       213 

THE    FAT   BACON-PIG                 .                       .                       .  ...       2l6 

"WELL  MR.  MOONRAKER,  HAVE  YOU  FOUND  THE  TREASURE?" 

to  face  page  216 

TWO   NAUGHTY   GIRLS   CAME   BY       ;     .                     .  .                .                  217 

SOLE  POND            .                .                .                .  .     to  face  page  228 

A   LEARNED   ENTOMOLOGIST                      .                      .  .                 .                  233 

THE   SHEPHERD   ON   CUNNIGAW   HILL                      .  ...       243 

AGRICULTURAL    DEPRESSION                     .                      .  .                 .            .       259 

THE   CHANT  WITHOUT            .                      .                     *  .                 .                  263 

"THEE  AN'  i  'OOL  BATTLE"             .               .  ,  .           .             266 

"MY   NAME   IS   MISTER   GRAY"              .                     .  ...       267 
"I'LL   PUT  ONE   DROP  ON   THE   TIP  OF    HIS   TONGUE53     .       to  face  page   268 

HAPPY  JACK             .,                     .                     .                 ~"  .  .                .            .       269 

"INTERESTIN'  PART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  THIS"  .           .        .     289 

STERCULUS   SANK  INTO  THE   NEAREST   CHAIR  '.  .                             .       297 

THE   BOLTS   WERE    DRAWN   BY  AN   AGED    MAN.  .       to  face  page   299 

"OH,  MR.  GHOST,  DON'T  'EE  HURT  i!"         .  .           .        .301 

THE   MORNING   FEAST          '   ..                    .                     .  ....       309 

TAILPIECE                  .                     .                     .                     .  *            $.            .       311 


A  BOOK  OF  THE  COUNTRY 
AND  THE  GARDEN 


MARCH 


March 


garden. 


IF  I  had  the  making  of  my  garden  over 
again  I  think  it  should  be  only  a  wild 
There  should  be  no  flower-beds  near  the 
house,  and  all  my  best  plants  should  be  grown  in 
wide  borders  in  the  kitchen  plots.  Close  up  to 
the  door  would  come  fine  turf,  and  grouped  in  it 
there  would  be  heather,  gorse,  broom,  and  other 
native  plants  and  shrubs,  with  winding  natural 
paths  between.  Further  away  I  would  encourage 
in  a  bosky  dell  grass  of  a  more  rampant  sort,  in 
which  I  might  naturalise  some  of  the  garden  plants 
which  are  best  adapted  to  this  method  of  treatment. 
There  should  be  leafy  borders,  wet  ditches,  natural 
rocky  elevations,  or  elevations  which  would  look 
natural,  and  each  with  its  carefully  planted  groups 
of  subjects  fitted  for  their  positions,  all  trying  to 
persuade  the  observer  that  they  grew  in  a  wild 
B 


2  MARCH 

state.  But  near  the  house  there  should  be  only 
my  unadorned  nature  garden  of  turf  and  gorse 
and  heath,  arranged  in  Nature's  own  fashion  of 
simple  graceful  lines  which  man  has  not  yet  learnt 
to  improve  upon. 

But  my  garden,  small  as  it  is,  is  an  actual  fact 

which  has  to  be  faced  as  it  stands.     To  the  south 

of  the  house  and  sloping  away  from  it  are  several 

beds  of  roses,  a  single  variety  in  each  bed,  thickly 

underplanted    with    spring    bulbs.      To    the    north, 

beyond    a    natural    terrace,    lie    flower  -  beds,    the 

croquet    lawn,    and    some    long    borders.      Beyond 

^hese^  borders    again    is    a    young    orchard    thinly 

li  \  planted  i.wij;h;  bush   and   standard   trees,   with   well- 

.  «n.  .kept  ,  .  grass   .paths    intersecting    it.      There    is    no 

' 


&ijy  ^  feijte  jbetween  garden  and  orchard;  the 
paths  of  the  latter  lead  out  of  the  garden  paths, 
and  are  a  continuation  of  them.  This  orchard  is 
my  wild  garden. 

On  the  left  side  as  I  walk  up  the  sloping  ground 
the  land  lies  in  a  low  bank  which  is  planted 
with  broom  and  heather.  The  common  European 
pseonies  show  their  heads  over  the  grass  in  May  ; 
polyanthuses  and  primroses  abound  close  to  the 
path,  and  everywhere  there  are  spring  bulbs. 

On  the  right  lies  the  main  portion  of  the  orchard, 
and  in  the  grass  there  are  planted  many  good 
things.  Oriental  poppies  show  their  strong  foliage; 
perennial  lupins  come  up  in  large  masses  ;  sweet- 
williams  are  dotted  about  plentifully,  michaelmas 
daisies,  irises,  giant  rheums,  foxgloves,  alkanets, 
doronicums,  evening  primroses,  St.  John's  wort— 
these  are  some  of  the  plants  which  abound  in  the 


MARCH  3 

grass.  They  are  by  no  means  the  only  ones  which 
have  been  tried.  More  things  have  failed  in  my 
wild  garden  than  have  thriven  there.  But  failures 
have  been  due  mainly  to  my  own  ignorance,  which 
encouraged  me  to  try  impossible  plants  and  an 
impracticable  method  of  growing  them. 

Every  keen  gardener  has,  doubtless,  some  main 
ideal  to  which  other  equally  valuable  intentions 
are  subordinated.  One,  for  instance,  likes  to  have 
a  garden  picture  ;  another,  regardless  of  aesthetic 


EVERYWHERE   THERE   ARE   SPRING    BULBS 

effects,  is  satisfied  with  a  gorgeous  show  of  colour. 
My  own  chief  aim  is  neither  of  these.  I  want 
flowers  for  cutting  all  the  year  round.  I  want 
them  from  my  garden  for  seven  or  eight  months 
of  the  year,  and  when  I  cannot  reasonably  expect 
them  in  the  open  I  want  them  from  my  greenhouse. 
I  like  to  have  large  quantities  of  them  to  live  with, 
and  to  give  to  friends.  Flowers  in  the  greenhouse 
thirty  yards  away  give  me  no  pleasure  when  I  am 
sitting  on  a  cold  winter's  day  in  my  drawing-room. 
Flowers  in  the  garden  are  essential,  but  in  the 


4  MARCH 

sitting-rooms  they  are  no  less  necessary.  In  fact, 
wherever  one  lives  there  are  flowers  wanted,  and 
consequently  the  plants  in  my  garden  are  mainly 
those  whose  blossoms  are  suitable  for  gathering 
and  arranging  in  vases,  thus  paying  a  double  debt 
—in  their  beds  first,  for  a  short  space,  and  after- 
wards in  the  rooms  wherein  I  live. 

I  am  bound  to  confess  that  much  as  I  should 
like  to  have  a  real  garden  wilderness  I  think  it 
would  be  impossible  to  get  flowers  enough  from 
it  to  justify  me  in  giving  up  all  my  ground  to  it. 
Deficiencies  would  be  made  up  of  course  from  the 
kitchen  plots,  whose  reserve  borders  for  flowers 
would  be  a  necessity  of  the  scheme.  For  the  best 
show  in  a  wild  garden  is  over  by  July.  In  April 
come,  with  primroses  and  lungworts,  countless  bulbs 
of  a  hundred  kinds  ;  in  May  paeonies,  fritillaries, 
poet's  narcissus,  broom  —  all  under  a  canopy  of 
apple  blossom.  In  June  there  follows  a  brilliant 
display,  looking  glorious  in  the  long  grasses,  but 
from  July  onward  the  picture  changes.  The  brown 
seeding  grass  is  hardly  less  beautiful,  but  the 
flowers  thriving  in  it  are  fewer  and  less  showy 
than  hitherto.  It  would  be  vain  to  depend  upon 
them  for  the  many  purposes  for  which  flowers 
are  required ;  so  the  kitchen  borders  would  be 
wanted  to  fill  the  gaps  and  to  prevent  a  famine  in 
the  land. 

Everything  that  is  not  ^needed  elsewhere  is  thrust 
out  into  my  wild  garden.  All  the  bulbs  which  have 
bloomed  in  pots,  all  the  scraps  of  herbaceous  plants 
whose  rampant  growth  has  entailed  division,  all  the 
seedlings  not  wanted  in  the  borders — these  find 


MARCH  5 

a  place  in  the  herbage,  and  thrive  there  according 
as  they  hold  their  own  with  it  or  no.  Refuse  seeds 
are  thrown  broadcast  into  it,  in  the  hope  that  a 
stray  one  here  or  there  may  find  a  nook  in  which 
it  will  germinate.  There  are  few  which  have  not 
been  tried  in  it,  though  not  many  have  done  well. 

It  is  of  no  use  to  dibble  plants  among  the  grass 
and  to  go  away  in  the  confidence  that  they  will  live 
there.  I  have  tried  that  plan  with  egregious 
failure  as  a  result.  Good -sized  irregular -shaped 
beds  should  be  dug,  and  the  turves  turned  over  so 
that  the  grass  shall  die.  These  beds  may  have  an 
autumnal  planting  of  things  likely  to  repay  the  labour, 
and  may  then  be  left  alone.  Apart  from  the 
blooms  they  give  they  will  look  bare  for  the  first 
summer,  but  the  surrounding  grass  will  quickly  seed 
itself  upon  them,  and  in  the  second  year  the  flowers 
will  be  really  springing  from  the  grass,  and  the 
effect  will  be  beautiful.  Colonies  can  be  established 
in  this  way  year  after  year,  until  in  the  course  of 
time  <J1  the  ground  is  covered  with  flowering  plants 
with  sparse  grass  between.  Bulbs  can  be  dibbled 
into  these  beds  as  they  come  to  hand. 

There  is  no  reason  why  many  beautiful  plants 
from  all  quarters  of  the  world  should  not  be 
naturalised  in  the  wild  garden.  Among  our  own 
British  flora  we  find  as  a  matter  of  course  growing 
in  grassy  places  such  things  as  foxgloves,  primroses, 
forget-me-nots,  asphodels,  anemones,  columbines, 
and  a  thousand  others.  Is  there  any  valid  reason 
why  in  association  with  them  we  should  not  grow 
under  similar  conditions  exotics  belonging  to  the 
same  families  ?  I  trow  not.  Mr.  William  Robinson 


6  MARCH 

in  his  delightful  book,  The   Wild  Garden,  tells  us 
how  good  results  may  be  secured  in  this  way. 

The  yellow  foxglove,  one  of  the  hardiest  and 
most  robust  of  plants,  would  be  a  fit  companion  for 
its  spotted  relative  ;  the  Asiatic  primroses  for  the 
English.  There  are  perhaps  a  good  half-dozen 
plants  of  the  forget-me-not  family  which  would 
thrive  with  our  own  beautiful  blue  spring  flower, 
and  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  columbine  in  its 
season.  But  even  these  might  yield  place  in  point 
of  fitness  to  the  many  bulbous  things  which  could 
not  fail  to  do  well  in  the  herbage.  Imagine  an 
orchard  glittering  in  springtime  with  the  narcissus 
of  a  hundred  varieties  ;  with  the  nodding  star  of 
Bethlehem,  too  seldom  seen  ;  with  the  fritillary  in 
many  forms,  the  Spanish  hyacinth  in  two  or  three 
colours,  the  scarlet  tulip,  the  scilla,  the  dog's-tooth 
violet,  the  snowflake,  and  many  more !  The 
imagination  can  hardly  picture  anything  in  nature 
more  beautiful  than  this.  And  the  spring  show 
would  be  succeeded  by  a  summer  show  as  beautiful 
and  even  more  striking,  and,  moreover,  helped  out 
by  waving  grass  growing  naturally  among  the 
flowers.  I  do  not  know  any  kind  of  gardening 
more  effective  than  wild  gardening  in  its  season. 

Many  persons  who  have  no  grass  meadow  to 
devote  to  a  wild  garden  could  at  least  clo  some- 
thing to  improve  the  terrible  shrubbery  which 
reigns  in  every  conventional  English  garden  en- 
closure. There  are  hosts  of  things  that  will 
flourish  even  in  such  hostile  society  as  that  of  deep- 
rooting  lilacs  and  light-excluding  laurels.  It  would 
be  an  idle  effort  to  attempt  to  persuade  the  average 


MARCH  7 

Englishman  to  abolish  his  belt  of  laurels  and 
berberis.  But  it  might  be  possible  to  induce  him, 
at  any  rate,  so  to  diminish  their  number  that  each 
tree  shall  have  room  sufficient  to  assert  itself  and 
to  justify  its  existence.  A  laurel  allowed  to  grow 
into  its  own  natural  shape  is  not  a  hideous  object 
in  the  garden — no  tree  that  is  natural  is  ever  un- 
beautiful.  But  a  laurel  crushed  up  against  its 
neighbours  into  a  shapeless  mass  is  ugly  enough  to 
make  the  aesthetic  soul  eschew  for  ever  the  whole 
laurel  family.  If  this  shrub  is  essential  to  the  well- 
being  of  the  Englishman,  there  is,  at  any  rate,  no 
sufficient  reason  why  he  should  not  have  it  in  its 
best  form,  which  is  its  natural  form.  And  if  it  is 
given  a  prominent  place  in  the  garden  landscape— 
a  thing  lamentable  when  its  room  could  be  taken 
by  flowering  shrubs  of  real  beauty — there  might  be 
encouraged  under  it  herbaceous  plants  which  would 
transform  the  shrubbery  into  something  approaching 
distinction  Michaelmas  daisies  would  thrive  there, 
evening  primroses,  delphiniums,  wallflowers,  tril- 
liums,  and  many  more,  with  such  bulbs  as  lilies, 
irises,  tulips,  cyclamens,  muscaris,  and  crocuses. 
There  is  infinite  scope  even  in  the  terrible  shrub- 
bery for  good  and  tasteful  gardening,  provided  the 
interspaces  are  large  enough  to  allow  their  occu- 
pants to  maintain  their  identity. 

My  garden,  as  I  have  said,  is  an  accomplished 
fact,  so  that  I  cannot  do  the  thing  that  I  would.  It 
is  only  by  gardening  that  one  can  learn  what  right 
gardening  is.  I  have  had  my  opportunity,  and  have 
misused  it.  But  the  part  I  love  best  of  my  small 
domain  is  not  the  trim  grass  lawn  with  its  carefully 


8  MARCH 

tended  borders  above  and  beds  below  ;  not  the  rose 
plot  with  its  several  hundred  bushes  half  hidden  in 
the  spring  by  a  blaze  of  flowering  bulbs.  My 
favourite  resort  is  the  wild  garden  of  the  orchard, 
which,  even  in  late  summer,  when  its  grass  grows 
brown  and  brittle  in  the  wind,  gives  me  a  fuller 
conviction  of  what  true  gardening  should  be  than 
do  the  tidy  rose-beds  and  the  carefully  tended 
borders  beside  the  smooth  lawn. 

But  if  one  cannot  have  the  garden  that  experience 
has  taueht  is  the  best  and  the  most  beautiful — if  life's 

o 

opportunities  can  never  repeat  themselves — one  may, 
at  any  rate,  make  the  best  of  the  garden  as  it  exists 
after  several  years  of  loving  tendance  have  brought 
a  certain  amount  of  result  in  return  for  the  trouble 
spent  upon  it.  As  a  garden  it  may  only  be  a  poor, 
small  thing,  but  at  least  it  is  my  own,  and  cramped 
and  stupid  as  it  may  appear  to  the  casual  observer, 
it  yields  as  many  flowers  as  any  other  of  double  its 
size  with  which  I  am  acquainted. 

But  the  struggle  for  results  has  been  a  hard  one. 
When  I  first  took  to  gardening  I  began  with  the 
very  simple  plan  of  growing  everything  I  could  get. 
Nothing  came  amiss  with  me,  whether  from  the 
auction  room,  or  the  retail  salesman,  or  the  gardens 
and  greenhouses  of  my  friends.  It  seems  to  me  in 
retrospect  that  one  day  I  said,  "  Go  to;  I  will  make 
a  garden."  And  forthwith  I  bought  largely  of  what 
sellers  had  to  offer,  supplemented  by  what  friends 
had  to  give,  and  then  sat  down  to  enjoy  the  results 
of  my  labour.  These  were  unforeseen  and  peculiar. 
I  had  scorned  the  idea  of  growing  snapdragons, 
and  larkspurs,  and  Canterbury  bells,  and  suchlike 


MARCH  9 

common  things,  and  a  close  study  of  the  growers' 
catalogues  led  me  to  indulge  plentifully  in  the 
ostrowskia  magnified,  the  romneya  coulteri,  the  iris 
laevigata,  the  crinum  longifolium,  the  meconopsis 
wallichii,  and  other  glorious  and  important-sounding 
subjects.  When  summer  came  the  ostrowskias  ap- 
peared indeed,  but  only  to  demonstrate  that  they 
found  their  position  untenable,  and  had  not  the 
slightest  intention  of  thriving  in  it ;  the  romneyas 
languished  early  and  quite  unreasonably  for  want 
of  water,  and  when  supplied  with  it  disappeared 
altogether;  the  irises  and  the  Himalayan  poppies 
never  came  up  at  all,  because  the  soil  was  too  dry 
for  them,  and  the  crinums,  though  they  have 
flourished  ever  since,  have  never  shown  the  slightest 
inclination  to  flower. 

And  it  was  much  the  same  in  the  greenhouse. 
There  were  artillery  plants  which  never  found  heat 
enough  to  make  them  explode ;  amaryllids  that 
stood  up  bravely  in  their  greenery,  but  refrained, 
from  weakening  themselves  by  flower  production  ; 
yellow  callas  that  did  not  bloom  when  blooms  were 
wanted.  For  the  most  terrible  part  of  the  business 
was  this,  that  all  through  the  winter,  when  blossoms 
would  have  been  valuable,  there  were  none  to  be 
found  in  my  greenhouse.  They  reserved  them- 
selves for  a  summer  show,  and  flowered  gaily  when 
at  last — for  eventually  I  had  to  come  down  to 
common  border  plants — the  outdoor  garden  was 
able  to  supply  all  I  wanted. 

One  year's  experience  of  this  sort  of  thing  made 
me  realise  that  by  some  means  or  another  "there 
must  be  an  holteration  somewhere,"  as  the  gardener, 


io  MARCH 

Sterculus,  says  when  he  goes  on  the  warpath.  I 
discovered  through  a  process  of  exhaustion  those 
plants  which  would  bloom  in  a  winter  temperature 
such  as  we  are  able  to  maintain  in  our  greenhouse, 
and  by  degrees  I  eliminated  all  that  required 
summer  sunshine  or  stove  heat  to  make  them 
flower.  I  cannot  boast  of  the  variety  which  once 
adorned  my  greenhouse,  but  at  any  rate  the  plants 
that  are  in  it  are  those  which  blossom  at  mid- 
winter, and  thus  succeed  summer  things  in  our 
living-rooms.  The  results  might  appear  con- 
temptible to  many  an  eye,  but  in  point  of  quantity 
I  think  they  are  the  best  that  can  be  obtained  from 
a  thousand  cubic  feet  of  glass. 

At  this  time  of  year,  however,  and  for  some 
months  to  come,  the  greenhouse  is  a  matter  of 
secondary  importance,  and  no  flowers,  or  hardly 
any,  will  be  found  in  it  which  required  winter 
tendance  or  room  on  its  stages  at  that  season. 
Achimenes,  begonias,  gloxinias  will  presently  be  gay 
in  it,  but  these  have  lain  under  the  shelves  and  have 
given  no  trouble  through  the  winter.  Petunias,  bal- 
sams, and  other  various  annuals  will  lend  it  bright- 
ness, but  they  are  propagated  in  spring,  and,  like 
the  tubers,  have  had  no  actual  winter  existence. 
But  as  the  earliest  of  these  things  cannot  be  ex- 

o 

pected  to  bloom  before  June,  there  will  be  plants 
left  over  from  late  winter  for  the  present  furnishing 
of  the  greenhouse,  and  although  these  will  not  be 
very  varied,  they  will  be  in  sufficient  quantity  to 
keep  it  bright. 

There  would  seem,  judging  from  results,  to  be 
very  few  persons  living  in  the  country  and  owning 


MARCH  1 1 

a  limited  amount  of  glass  who  really  care  to  have 
flowers  all  the  year  round,  though  I  doubt  if  there 
are  any  who  would  confess  as  much.  Yet  their 
houses  are  crowded  with  plants  which  bloom  from 
March  to  October,  instead  of  those  which  bloom 
from  October  to  March.  The  mischief  lies  in  the 
fact  that  they  are  already  furnished  with  hard- 
wooded  plants,  which  year  by  year  occupy  more 
room,  yet  do  not  give  results  proportionate  to  the 
space  they  exact.  But  their  owners  would  con- 
template with  horror  the  idea  of  consigning  all 
these  things  to  the  rubbish  heap.  I  confess  that 
it  required  some  strength  of  mind  and  considerable 
hardening  of  the  heart  before  I  could  persuade 
myself  to  do  this,  and  to  grow  for  the  most  part 
soft- wooded  stuff;  but  the  issue  has  been  so  much 
more  satisfactory  that  I  have  never  regretted  the 
sacrifice  of  my  cherished  azaleas,  bouvardias,  and 
other  things  of  similar  habit. 

The  plants  which,  most  of  all,  perhaps,  are 
valuable  in  the  winter  are  the  zonal  pelargoniums, 
commonly  called  geraniums,  and  this  is  the  time  to 
get  them  in  hand.  Cuttings  are  taken  only  from 
those  varieties  which  can  endure  to  bloom  in  a 
moderate  winter  temperature,  but  their  name  is 
legion,  and  many  dealers  now  make  a  speciality 
of  them.  These  cuttings  are  struck  in  March,  and 
are  grown  away  rapidly  for  six  months,  and  en- 
couraged by  plentiful  supplies  of  water  and  suitable 
fertilisers  to  make  strong  and  free  foliage.  Until 
October  they  are  not  allowed  to  carry  a  flower, 
each  incipient  blossom  being  carefully  removed  as 
soon  as  it  appears,  and  until  August  the  branches  are 


12  MARCH 

stopped  as  they  require  it,  to  induce  a  bushy  shape. 
In  the  hot  weather  they  are  placed  in  the  sunniest 
part  of  the  garden,  and  never  allowed  to  become 
completely  dry,  and  by  the  month  of  September, 
when  they  are  housed,  they  are  good  strong  plants, 
capable  of  flowering  continuously  for  three  or  four 
months  or  more.  There  are  many  amateurs  who 
fail  to  get  satisfactory  results  from  pelargoniums 
in  the  winter,  but  there  is  no  difficulty  in  doing 
so  if  the  right  sorts  are  chosen  and  the  summer 
routine  is  carefully  observed.  Primulas  may  be 
sown  at  the  end  of  the  month  if  they  are  wanted 
for  December,  and  a  second  sowing  in  May  will 
ensure  a  succession  throughout  the  winter. 

But  it  needs  a  certain  amount  of  tenacity  at  this 
time  of  year,  when  the  outside  garden  is  full  of 
promise  and  spring  is  bursting  over  the  land,  to 
do  the  necessary  work  that  is  demanded  for  next 
winter's  enjoyment.  The  present  time  is  so  in- 
finitely better  than  any  future  when  that  present 
time  is  the  spring  of  the  year.  And  the  reward 
which  outdoor  flowers  will  give  us  is  nearer  than 
that  which  we  can  expect  from  greenhouse  plants 
grown  for  next  winter's  enjoyment.  So  the  place 
of  greenhouse  work  is  taken  by  work  in*the  garden, 
and  there  is  much  to  be  done  in  it  for  a  long  time 
to  come. 

March  24.  The  pruning  of  hybrid  perpetual 
bushes  needs  some  acquaintance  with  the  individual 
habit  of  each  kind  of  rose.  If  separate  beds  are 
given  up  to  one  variety,  a  glance  at  the  occupants 
at  this  season  will  tell,  better  than  any  garden  book 
could  do,  what  bad  habit  is  to  be  corrected  by 


MARCH  13 

pruning.  Captain  Christy,  with  its  upright  growth, 
for  instance,  should  be  well  thinned  out  at  the 
centre  ;  Countess  of  Oxford,  which  is  apt  to  break 
too  high,  should  in  this  case  be  cut  back  to  the 
bare,  hard,  and  apparently  budless  main  stems ; 
and  the  hardly  recognisable  rings,  which  at  present 
look  incapable  of  bursting  into  growth,  will  send 
forth  buds  which  will  make  good  branches  and 
flower  as  soon  as  any  others.  Eugen  Ftirst  requires 
very  hard  pruning,  because  it  breaks  so  early  in 
the  spring ;  and  with  Jean  Liabaud  a  sharp  eye 
should  be  kept  on  that  portion  of  growth  which 
comes  direct  from  the  soil,  for  the  stock  is  apt  to 
outgrow  the  scion  unless  care  is  taken.  And  so 
with  all  the  other  roses  in  a  garden,  each  has  its 
idiosyncrasy,  and  must  be  corrected  in  accordance 
with  it.  The  usual  rule  for  pruning  is  to  cut  back 
to  a  dormant  bud  with  an  outward  tendency,  and 
this  rule  answers  exceedingly  well  until  the  gardener 
has  gained  experience  of  his  own  and  is  able  to 
modify  it  in  conformity  with  this  experience. 

Nearly  all  hardy  annuals  should  be  sown  about 
the  end  of  March,  for  if  this  is  not  done  until  later 
the  sun's  power  may  be  so  great  that  the  seedlings 
will  not  make  sufficient  root  growth  before  they  are 
forced  into  bloom,  and  so  their  season  will  be  a 
short  one.  I  have  had  for  several  years  some 
success  with  dahlias  treated  as  hardy  annuals.  The 
seed  is  gathered  in  the  autumn  and  sown  in  March, 
and  if  May  frosts  threaten  a  handful  of  bracken  is 
thrown  over  the  young  seedlings.  They  are  thinned 
to  a  few  inches  apart,  and  by  the  time  the  carefully 
tended  dahlias  from  indoors  are  flowering  there  is 


I4  MARCH 

also  a  hedge  of  single  and  semi-double  dahlias  in 
the  kitchen  garden  far  exceeding  them  in  strength 
and  floriferous  value,  although  the  blossoms  are  not 
of  correct  form  or  of  orthodox  habit.  Still  they  are 
exactly  what  are  wanted  for  cutting,  and  the  supply 
is  unfailing  until  winter  frosts  lay  them  low. 

Most  of  the  half-hardy  annuals  are  sown  either 
now  or  in  April  in  pans  or  boxes  in  the  greenhouse, 
or  else  in  frames  outside.  Nearly  all  of  them  are 
the  better  for  being  raised  from  the  first  without 
fire  heat,  and  little  beds  in  the  open  are  quite 
practicable  for  many  things  in  sheltered  gardens, 
provided  that  they  have  the  protection  of  glass. 
An  excellent  plan  for  those  who  cannot  spare  cold 
frames  for  this  purpose  is  to  buy  a  few  sheets  of 
twenty-one-ounce  glass,  and  to  extemporise  little 
frames  to  carry  the  sheets.  One  or  two  laths  cut 
into  pieces  an  inch  or  so  smaller  in  each  direction 
than  the  glass,  nailed  together  and  laid  on  the 
ground,  and  covered  with  a  sheet  of  the  glass,  will 
make  an  admirable  shelter  for  a  little  patch  of  some 
half-hardy  annual.  As  the  seedlings  grow  the  laths 
may  be  raised  on  bricks,  and  by  this  means  the 
young  plants  will  be  safe  until  the  danger  of  frost 
is  over.  They  must  be  thinned  as  soon  as  they 
require  it,  and  this  is  the  most  important  part  of 
the  whole  system  of  their  culture. 

March  25.  When  Jim  first  broke  away  from  his 
busy  London  life,  having  made  up  his  mind  that  the 
solitude  of  the  country  was  more  conducive  to  the 
study  of  the  philosophies  than  was  the  quicker, 
strenuous  existence  he  had  led  since  leaving 
the  old  home,  he  asked  me  to  share  his  cottage 


MARCH  17 

with  him,  and  I  cordially  agreed  to  the  proposal. 
In  the  old  times  my  brother  had  always  been  my 
closest  friend,  and  nothing  could  be  more  natural 
now  than  that  we  should  make  our  home  together. 
It  was  literally  a  case  of  making  a  home,  for  he 
had  bought  a  couple  of  labourers'  cottages  with 
a  meadow  adjoining,  and  our  first  summer  was 
spent  in  building  an  annexe  to  the  original  structure. 
This  was  his  province,  while  the  making  of  the 
garden  was  mine.  House  and  garden  are  both 
about  seven  years  old  now,  and  have  settled 
down  into  congenial  fellowship.  The  house  looks 
weathered  and  rriddle-aged  with  its  fast-mellowing 
brick  walls  and  its  sober  thatched  roof.  The 
garden  with  all  its  faults — and  there  were  many  in 
its  planning — is  not  out  of  harmony  with  the  house. 
Both  are  simple,  humble,  natural,  as  they  should  be. 

We  had  in  our  efforts  a  valuable  coadjutor  in 
the  person  of  Sterculus  Picumnus,  that  worthy 
successor  of  the  son  of  Faunus,  who,  as  Dean 
Hole  in  one  of  his  most  fascinating  books  has 
reminded  us,  invented  the  art  of  spreading  manure 
on  the  land  to  enrich  it  for  cultivation.  Sterculus 
lived  for  several  years  in  our  employ,  and  gave 
himself  up  heart  and  soul  to  making  our  garden  ; 
then,  tempted  by  a  large  wage,  he  left  us  a  year 
since  for  a  better  situation  in  the  North  of 
England.  Mrs.  Sterculus  Picumnus,  who  had 
urged  him  perseveringly  to  this  course,  was  a 
person  not  altogether  without  insight,  and  when 
I  bade  her  good-bye  she  flung  her  arms  round 
my  neck  and  wept  on  my  bosom,  crying— 

''Don't  lose  sight  of  us;  don't  lose  sight  of  us! 
We  might  be  glad  of  you  yet." 
c 


i8 


MARCH 


We  did  not  lose  sight  of  them,  and  they  are  glad 
of  us  now,  and  we  of  them,  after  divers  unhappy 
experiences  with  their  incompetent  or  unpleasing 
successors.  It  is  by  no  means  a  difficult  thing 


STERCULUS   PICUMNUS 


to  get  a  good  gardener  for  a  large  estate  ;  it  is 
extraordinarily  difficult  to  get  a  good  gardener  for 
a  small  one.  We  tried  five  in  our  unhappy  year. 
One  drank  ;  a  second  neglected  his  work  ;  others 
proved  impossible  in  various  respects.  The  last 


ENTER  THE  CARRIER  EXPECTANT  OF  ORDERS 


MARCH  19 

was  an  admirable  gardener,  but  he  never  succeeded 
in   living  on  speaking  terms  with   more   than   one 
person  at  a  time,  his  temper  being  execrable. 
This  is  the  kind  of  thing-  that  went  on  : — 

o 

Enter  the  carrier,  expectant  of  orders.  Sterculus 
digging  at  three  yards'  distance. 

Sterculus  (to  the  garden  boy).  "  I  wants  two  casts 
o'  pots  from  DaviesV 

Boy  (to  carrier}.  "He  wants  two  casts  o'  pots 
from  DaviesV' 

Carrier.    "  Wha"  size  o'  pots  ?  " 

Boy  (to  Sterculus].    "  What  size  o'  pots  ? " 

Stemdus.    "  Vorty-eights  and  twenty- vours. " 

Boy  (to  carrier].  "  Vorty-eights  and  twenty- vours." 

Carrier.    "All  right." 

Sterculus  (viciously).  "It  wun't  be  all  right  if  he 
breaks  'em." 

Boy  (to  carrier].  "It  wun't  be  all  right  if  you 
breaks  'em." 

Carrier  (with  fury).  "I'll  break  his  head  if  he 
says  I  breaks  his  pots." 

Boy  (to  Sterculus}.  "  He'll  break  your  head  if 
you  says  he  breaks  your  pots." 

Sterculus  (sarcastically].    "  Let  un  try." 

Boy  (to  carrier).    "He  says,  '  You  try  ' !  " 

Exit  carrier  in  dire  wrath.  Sterculus  being 
triumphantly  emergent  from  the  fray,  forgives  the 
carrier  and  sets  up  an  antagonism  with  the  cook. 

This  sort  of  thing  was  rather  droll  at  first,  but 
very  soon  the  inconveniences  attaching  to  it  made 
the  amusement  pall,  and  after  several  warnings  our 
quarrelsome  friend  was  requested  to  leave  us  ;  and 
presently  our  own  original  Sterculus  discovered  that 


20  MARCH 

he  would  "  be  glad  of  us "  again,  and  we  are  all 
happy  together  once  more.  He  is  not  flawless,  our 
Sterculus.  No  human  being,  save  Heine,  ever  yet 
found  another  human  being  flawless  ;  his  Made  ken 
was  perfect  in  every  way,  but  she  was  unluckily 
dead.  We  used  to  think  of  Sterculus  as  perfect 
while  he  was  only  so  far  away  as  Northumberland  ; 
but  with  all  his  faults  we  are  as  glad  of  him  as  he  is 
of  us,  and  our  garden  grows  and  thrives  once  more 
under  his  diligent  devotion. 

March  27.  We  have  put  Sterculus's  brother  on 
for  a  few  weeks,  to  attend  to  the  grass  and  to  get  it 
into  good  order  after  a  whole  winter's  neglect.  It 
is  not  often  that  Sterculus  will  permit  us  to  employ 
extra  labour.  For  one  thing  he  enjoys  the  grievance 
of  being  overworked,  and  takes  a  sour  delight  in 
pointing  out  the  results  of  the  labour  of  "  one  pair 
o'  'ands."  For  another,  he,  being  a  Wiltshireman, 
has  but  a  small  opinion  of  his  neighbours  in  the 
land  of  his  adoption,  and  loves  to  liken  them  to 
their  own  famous  farm  product,  the  Berkshire  pig. 
"  I've  seen  a  pig  in  a  garden  afore  now,"  he  says  ; 
"and  I  cain't  say  I  liked  the  sight."  But  he  is 
obliging  enough  to  allow  us  sometimes  to  employ 
his  brother  Meshach,  who  has  followed  him  into 
exile,  and  Meshach  just  now  is  doing  a  very  im- 
portant work.  He  is  a  serious  young  man,  who 
is  suffering  from  what  is  called  a  "conviction." 
This  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  law's  majesty,  but 
is  merely  the  correct  phraseology  in  our  rural  dis- 
senting circles  for  intimating  that  the  sufferer  is  in 
the  first  stage  of  salvation.  A  conviction  of  sin  is 
a  necessary  preliminary  to  grace.  This  young  man 


MARCH 


21 


has  been  rather  "  gay "  —there  is  nothing  more 
reprehensible  in  our  rustic  society  than  a  reputation 
for  gaiety,  mild  as  its  form  may  be — and  in  order 
to  remove  him  from  some  other  undesirable  young 
men,  Jim  got  him  the  offer  of  a  place  in  Patagonia, 
where,  strange  to  say,  many  of  our  lads  find  work 
and  high  wages  on  the  sheep  farms.  When  I  heard 
that  he  had  refused  the  situation,  I  went  to  ask  him 


"I'VE   SEEN   A    PIG    IN   A   GARDEN3' 

the  reason  why.  He  is  a  dreamy  youth,  and  he 
answered  me  in  the  intervals  of  turf- edging  as 
though  his  heart  and  his  thoughts  were  alike  in  a 
land  that  is  very  far  off. 

"  Ah  !  there's  many  a  time  as  us  wants  to  follow 
out  our  own  plans,  and  God  has  got  to  fetch  us 
back  to  do  our  work  all  over  again  in  He's  way. 
I  be  for  all  the  world  like  Jonah— fetched  back  to 
work  in  God's  way,  not  in  my  way.  We've  all  got 


22  MARCH 

to  be  fetched  back  some  time  or  another,   you  see, 
ma'am." 

"  But  you  never  actually  started,  Meshach." 

"Not  perhaps  to  say  started,  but  my  mind  had 
gone  on  afore.  Enough  fer  God  to  fetch  me  back, 
anyways. " 

"  And  why  do  you  think  that  it  would  have  been 
wrong  for  you  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think,  ma'am.      I  knows." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  shud  ha'  lost  time.  On  that  there  v'yage 
I'd  ha'  lost  maybe  a  matter  o'  five  or  six  months  as 
shud  ha'  bin  empl'yed  fer  God." 

"  I  don't  think  you  would  be  more  than  six  weeks 
on  the  voyage." 

"  Maybe  not,  ma'am ;  but  I  shud  ha'  lost  six 
months  fer  God.  I've  figured  it  all  out,  an'  / 
knows." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  'tis  like  this  yer.  I  was  a-gwine 
to  start  this  spring.  You  minds  'twas  early  in 
March  I'd  settled  to  leave.  Well,  ma'am,  what 
season  o'  the  year  would  it  ha'  bin  when  I'd  reach 
Patagonia  ?  " 

."It  would  have  been  autumn  there,  of  course. 
Their  seasons  are  different  from  ours." 

"  That's  right,  ma'am  ;  it  would  ha'  bin  autumn. 
Well  now,  when  I  shud  come  to  meet  God  some 
day,  how'd  I  'count  to  Him  fer  my  wasted 
summer  ?  " 

"  But  it  wouldn't  have  been  wasted— 

"  Betwixt  spring  an'  autumn  there's  allus  a  sum- 
mer ;  there's  no  gettin'  over  that.  I'd  ha'  left  here 


MARCH  23 

in  spring  ;  I'd  ha'  got  there  in  autumn.  I' wouldn't 
ha'  had  no  summer  at  all.  I'd  ha'  bin  throwin' 
away  time  as  ought  to  be  empl'yed  fer  God." 


I'VE    FIGURED    IT   ALL   OUT" 

"But  the  time  would  be  the  same— 
"  I've  worked   it  all   out   in  my  mind.     There's 
time    lost    somewheres.       Where    'tis    lost     I     ain't 


24  MARCH 

scollard  enough  to  judge,  nor  it  don't  concern  me 
to  know  more  about  it.  What  I  looks  at  is  that 
time'd  ha'  bin  lost  as  I'd  ought  to  spend  fer  God 
now.  That's  why  I  says  I  was  fetched  back  like 
Jonah.  God  took  care  o'  me,  an'  stopped  my 
wilful  waste  of  days  an'  seasons  afore  'twas  too 
late." 

He  turned  with  dreary  determination  to  his  clip- 
ping. He  did  not  want  to  have  his  conclusions 
combated  ;  a  principle  was  involved,  and  his  face 
was  set  firm.  There  is  nothing  more  interesting 
than  the  getting  at  a  new  point  of  view  in  some 
fellow-mortal. 

Sterculus  is  sowing  grass  seed  in  bare  and  shady 
places,  and  is  laboriously  protecting  it  from  birds 
with  lines  of  black  cotton  supported  on  sticks. 
We  do  not  find  that  much  of  it  grows  when  sown 
at  this  season ;  the  spring  droughts  of  the  last 
years  have  been  too  cruel  for  seeds  of  many  kinds, 
and  the  end  of  August  is  a  better  time  for  grass 
sowing  than  now.  But  there  are  bare  places  on 
the  green  paths,  and  turves  are  difficult  to  get,  so 
that  the  second-best  course  must  be  resorted  to, 
unsatisfactory  as  it  is  likely  to  be. 

I  have  a  great  fancy  this  year  to  try  masses  of 
cool  blossoms  in  parts  of  the  borders  where  there 
are  gaps  large  enough  for  several  clumps  together. 
For  instance,  in  July  and  August,  when  the  blazing 
sun  is  at  his  fiercest,  and  the  eye  shrinks  from 
the  pinks  and  reds  and  yellows  of  the  gardener's 
choosing,  how  soothing  would  be  a  mass  here  of 
mauve  and  blue,  and  there  of  white  and  purple 
generously  applied !  So  I  am  planting  closely  to- 


MARCH  25 

gether  a  good  many  tubers  of  the  fine  blue  com- 
melina  called  celestis,  and  all  around  and  between 
it  I  shall  have  plants  of  the  dwarfest  and  palest 
ageratum,  and  thus  attempt  a  harmony  in  these  two 
shades.  The  commelina  is  not  very  well  known  in 
gardens,  and  some  who  have  it  despise  it  because 
its  blossoms  are  sparse,  and  mostly  at  the  top  of 
the  stalk.  But  if  it  is  planted  closely  and  guarded 
round  by  plants  a  little  shorter  than  itself,  its 
gentian  blue  is  admirable  in  beds  and  borders.  I 

o 

find  that  seed  sown  afresh  every  year  is  the  easiest 
method  of  growing  ;  but  the  plant  forms  slim  tubers 
which  may  be  dug  up  in  autumn  and  kept  through 
the  winter  in  pots  of  sand  in  a  cool  greenhouse, 
and  this  is  the  plan  generally  adopted  for  its  repro- 
duction. 

Petunias  are  being  sown  for  greenhouse  decora- 
tion in  summer.  The  seed  is  procured  from  the 
best  dealers,  as  cheap  petunia  seed  is  one  of  the 
many  snares  of  the  penny-packet  salesman.  For 
tubs  and  boxes  out  of  doors  we  generally  grow  the 
old  pink  variety  despised  of  Sterculus.  Its  flower 
is  small,  and  not  quite  of  the  best  shade  of  colour, 
but  its  persistence  in  blooming  makes  it  welcome 
in  my  garden.  It  begins  to  unfold  early  in  June, 
and  until  November  frosts  come  it  is  a  great  sphere 
of  colour  in  tubs  under  a  verandah.  Its  trailing 
habit  soon  ensures  the  complete  hiding  of  the  tubs, 
and  above  and  around  and  below  hang  the  bright, 
rosy  blossoms,  never  shy,  never  exhausted,  never 
complaining,  howsoever  they  may  be  neglected. 
They  are  far  better  worth  growing  than  many 
better  things. 


26  MARCH 

It  is  hardly  too  early  to  plant  a  few  of  the  tender 
gladioli  in  the  reserve  plots  of  the  kitchen  garden. 
Frosts  may  threaten  them  in  May,  but  it  is  not 
difficult  to  protect  a  dozen  plants  or  so.  The  main 
supply  will  not  be  set  out  until  next  month,  as 
gladioli  are  most  valuable  late  in  summer  when 
many  other  flowers  are  over ;  one  does  not  really 
want  them  until  August. 


APRIL 


April  HTHIS  is  "Cuckoo  Day,"  as  it  is  locally 
T4-  J.  called,  and  the  first  taste  of  spring 
is  in  the  air.  Hitherto  we  have  been  much 
plagued  by  cold  winds,  but  to-day  the  sunshine  is 
unspoilt  by  a  north-easterly  blast,  and  the  bees 
have  come  out  in  myriads  to  sip  honey  from  the 
arabis  albida — mountain-snow,  as  the  rustics  call 
it --on  the  sloping  rockery.  Notwithstanding 
climatic  discouragement  there  is  already  a  brave 
show  of  flowering  bulbs.  Two  long  beds  of  tea 
roses,  which  have  just  been  pruned,  are  a  mass 
of  narcissus  cynosure,  bordered  and  under-planted 
with  blue  squills  from  Siberia,  and  the  contrast  is 
very  beautiful.  In  March  these  squills  Were  asso- 
ciated with  white  crocuses,  but  the  crocuses  are 
over  first,  as  their  blossoming  time  is  shorter,  and 
the  squills  have  thrown  up  a  succession  of  bloom 
spikes,  which  extend  their  season  into  that  of  the 

27 


28  APRIL 

daffodils.  Two  other  beds  are  planted  thickly  with 
mixed  hyacinths,  another  with  hyacinths  all  of  pink 
and  creamy  tints,  and  yet  a  fourth  with  blues  and 
cold  whites.  The  effect  is  delightful.  There  are 
other  beds  planted  with  tulips,  but  these  are  not 
yet  out  of  the  bud  stage. 

It  is  very  rarely  that  I  see  in  gardens  a  series  of 
beds  given  over  wholly  to  the  combination  of  roses 
and  bulbs,  which  I  consider  one  of  the  most  satis- 
factory which  I  have  attempted.  Rose  specialists 
have  said  so  much  to  discourage  the  growing  of 
anything  else  with  the  queen  of  flowers  that  many 
amateur  gardeners  fear  to  make  the  experiment. 
The  rose  fancier  naturally  looks  at  the  question 
from  the  circumscribed  area  of  the  show  table,  and 
it  is  perfectly  true  that  one  cannot  have  show  roses 
from  beds  which  in  spring  have  been  radiant  with 
countless  tulips.  I  do  not  for  a  moment  contend 
that  the  largest  and  most  perfect  roses  can  be  got 
from  these  beds  ;  it  is  obvious  that  they  cannot. 
But  there  is  a  better  ideal  than  this  of  the  exhibitor. 
We  do  not  want  show  roses,  two  or  three  on  a 
bush,  in  our  everyday  gardens ;  we  want  large 
quantities  of  blooms  average  in  size,  good  in  shape, 
and  perfect  in  colour — blooms  which  we  can  cut  by 
the  score  or  the  hundred,  leaving  no  gaps  to  tell 
the  tale.  Roses  of  this  description  can  be  grown 
with  bulbs,  and  neither  the  roses  nor  the  bulbs  will 
be  such  as  one  need  be  ashamed  of. 

Then,  again,  the  bulb  fancier  hears  with  horror 
the  theory  that  such  things  as  tulips  and  hyacinths 
can  be  permanently  planted  and  left  undisturbed 
for  years  between  the  roots  of  rose  bushes.  To 


APRIL  29 

him  the  tulip  and  the  hyacinth  are  semi-sacred 
things  which  require  annual  planting,  annual 
digging,  drying  and  storing.  Doubtless  his  results 
are  better  than  mine,  but  mine  are  quite  good 
enough  to  make  a  very  pleasing  show  in  the  spring, 
and  they  give  me  no  labour  at  any  season.  My 
hyacinths  have  been  planted  for  at  least  five  or  six 
years  and  left  undisturbed.  Their  flowers,  cer- 
tainly, are  not  so  big  as  they  were  in  their  first 
season,  but  that  is  a  trifling  matter.  They  are 
quite  large  enough  to  give  a  beautiful  effect,  and 
they  have  increased  enormously  in  number  since 
they  were  planted.  Some  of  the  spikes,  I  regret 
to  say,  are  even  now  bulky  enough  to  require 
staking  when  March  winds  blow  hard,  and  after 
five  years'  trial  of  hyacinths  as  permanent  in- 
habitants of  my  rose-beds  I  am  quite  satisfied  with 
the  result. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  tulips.  I  confess  that  in 
the  first  planting  I  went  wrong  with  these  bulbs, 
but  it  was  not  in  putting  them  among  my  roses 
that  I  erred,  but  in  buying,  in  some  instances, 
inferior  varieties.  Artus,  for  example,  and  Brutus 
attracted  me  by  their  cheapness,  and  two  beds 
given  over  to  them  are  a  perpetual  eyesore.  But 
a  large  terra-cotta  kind,  whose  name  I  do  not 
know,  is  as  handsome  and  almost  as  large  as  when 
first  planted,  and  another  bed  of  La  Reine  is 
equally  charming,  though  these  have  dwindled 
somewhat  in  size. 

Another  rose  -  bed  is  given  over  to  the  multi- 
coloured crown  anemones  which  are  so  easily 
grown  from  seed.  Seed  sown  now  and  carefully 


APRIL 


tended  gives  good  plants  which  flower  all  the  first 
autumn,  and  continue  to  increase  in  quantity,  if  not 
in  quality,  for  many  years  ;  but  some  people  find 
great  difficulty  in  raising  these  flowers,  and  a  word 


ANEMONES   AND   STANDARD    ROSES 


or  two  detailing  my  own  experience  with  them  may 
be  of  use. 

A  little  plot  of  ground  in  the  sunniest  part  of 
the  kitchen  garden  should  be  carefully  chosen  and 
prepared  and  watered.  The  seed  may  then  be 


APRIL  31 

sown  and  thinly  covered  with  fine  soil,  and  sheets 
of  newspaper  laid  over  all.  Under  this  paper  the 
soil  must  be  kept  moist  the  whole  of  the  time  that 
the  seed  is  germinating,  and  herein  is  the  whole 
secret  of  success.  As  it  entails  constant  trouble 
and  attention  the  results  are  generally  disappoint- 
ing, but  given  the  necessary  conditions,  anemones 
can  be  raised  with  the  greatest  ease  by  the  most 
ignorant  gardener,  and  if  anything  in  the  whole 
garden  looks  better  in  May  than  a  bed  of  these, 
under-planted  with  pansies,  I  should  much  like  to 
see  it. 

One  warning  is  necessary  with  regard  to 
anemones  grown  among  roses.  The  beds  must 
not  be  manured  in  December,  but  in  August, 
when  the  tubers  are  at  rest.  If  the  operation  is 
delayed  until  the  leaves  are  shooting  up  in  late 
autumn,  they  will  die. 

April  22.  Narcissus  cynosure  and  N.  Figaro, 
some  of  the  loveliest  of  the  cheaper  daffodils,  have 
lost  their  distinctive  character  this  year  through 
the  rough,  cold  weather.  The  calyx  has  come 
pure  yellow  instead  of  red-tipped,  and  their  full 
beauty  is  lost.  But  they  are  "very  plenty,"  as 
Sterculus  says,  so  there  is  not  much  cause  for 
complaint.  In  the  wild  garden  I  have  these  in 
some  quantity,  as  well  as  many  other  varieties 
which  are  greatly  increasing  every  year. 

I  do  not  buy  bulbs  specially  for  the  wild  garden. 
Every  autumn  I  get  them  in  large  quantities  for 
culture  in  frames  and  greenhouse,  and  in  spring, 
when  they  have  served  their  purpose  there,  they 
are  turned  out  into  the  orchard,  being  carefully 


32  APRIL 

planted  not  too  closely  together.  Here  they  finish 
maturing  their  root  and  leaf  growth,  and  here  in 
following  years  they  flower  in  profusion.  Each 
season  some  thousands  of  daffodils  are  so  treated, 
as  are  also  fritillaries,  Italian  hyacinths,  erythro- 
niums,  stars  of  Bethlehem,  crocuses,  squills,  and 
even  tulips,  although  these,  I  confess,  do  not  give 
such  uniformly  good  results  as  other  bulbs.  They 
come  rather  small,  but  make  bright  spots  of  colour 
in  the  green,  while  all  the  others  do  their  best 


DAFFODILS    IN   THE   WILD   GARDEN 


among  the  herbage  which  is  their  natural  accom- 
paniment. It  is  far  more  satisfactory  to  pick 
daffodils  from  a  semi-wild  spot  such  as  this  than 
to  rob  prominent  beds  of  their  occupants,  as  of 
old  I  was  forced  to  do.  Of  course  the  beds  are 
not  spared  ;  the  flowers  are  there  to  be  gathered, 
and  nothing  is  considered  immune  if  it  is  wanted 
elsewhere.  But  since  I  have  had  my  wild  garden 
I  am  bound  to  acknowledge  that  the  beds  present 
a  better  appearance,  as  they  are  less  liable  to 
depredation. 


APRIL  33 

One  of  the  best  herbaceous  plants  for  the  wild 
garden  is  the  sweet-william.  Mine  were  merely 
thrust  out  into  the  grass  three  or  four  years  ago, 
and  they  hold  their  own  and  flower  well  there. 
Perennial  lupins  are  also  promising  handsomely, 
with  oriental  poppies,  single  rockets,  and  the 
herbaceous  asters,  while  wallflowers  and  polyan- 
thuses are  a  mass  of  colour,  contrasting  in  their 
sober  tints  with  the  gayer  bulb  colonies  and  with 
the  yellow  doronicums  which  are  in  brilliant  flower 
now,  and  will  last  into  June. 

Many  seeds  of  perennials  should  be  sown  in 
April.  Wallflowers,  for  instance,  never  make 
noble  plants  if  one  waits  till  summer  to  sow  them. 
Delphiniums,  aquilegias,  the  type  pentstemons, 
evening  primroses,  especially  the  beautiful  creep- 
ing cenotkera  taraxacifolia,  campanulas,  carnations 
are  all  the  better  for  early  attention  if  they  are  to 
make  strong  plants  before  the  winter. 

Beds  of  wallflowers,  common  as  they  are  with 
us,  can  never  look  amiss  if  they  are  of  the  single 
sort,  and  one  of  the  best  combinations  I  have  is 
of  gold  and  primrose  kinds  planted  each  in  a 
fair  -  sized  colony  running  into  its  neighbour's 
ground.  The  blood-red  one,  which  is  also  in- 
dispensable, looks  well  with  the  salmon  shade, 
and  these  four  colours  are  all  that  are  needed  in 
the  ordinary  garden.  But  wallflowers  judiciously 
harmonised  with  bulbs  bear  off  the  palm  for 
arrangement.  A  bed  of  terra-cotta  tulips  planted 
with  blood-red  wallflowers,  and  arranged  in  squares 
of  four — three  plants  of  the  square  being  tulips  and 
the  fourth  a  wallflower — is  inexpressibly  attractive 


34  APRIL 

when  often  repeated  over  a  good  -  sized  bed. 
Yellow  tulips  and  primrose  wallflowers  are  as 
good  a  mixture,  and  this  scheme  in  general  is 
a  pleasing  change  from  the  invariable  carpet  of 
forget-me-not  or  red  daisies,  from  which  in  most 
gardens  the  wallflowers  spring.  Combinations  of 
bulbs,  too,  are  a  happy  variation  from  old-established 
ideas.  A  very  successful  one  is  that  of  the  dark 
blue  hyacinth,  General  Havelock,  with  the  Orange 
Phoenix  narcissus,  and  another  as  pretty  has  alter- 


DORONICUMS   IN   A  GRASSY   PLACE 


nate  bulbs  of  the  pale  blue  hyacinth,  Lord  Derby, 
and  the  yellow  jonquil. 

April  24.  How  glad  is  the  gardener  to  get 
the  smallest  hint  which  may  help  in  floriculture ! 
It  would  never  have  occurred  to  me  to  grow  spring 
bulbs  with  ferns,  yet  to-day  I  have  been  in  a  garden 
where  the  fernery  is  a  mass  of  tulips  and  narcissi, 
with  tender  fronds  of  the  ferns  growing  beside  them, 
and  ready  to  take  their  place  and  hide  their  com- 
panions as  soon  as  these  lose  their  beauty.  When 
the  flowers  are  over  and  the  spiky  leaves  begin  to 
get  limp,  they  are  cut  down  to  within  about  four 


APRIL  35 

inches  of  the  ground,  and  then  the  ferns  have  their 
turn,  and  the  mutilated  bulb  foliage  is  hidden  away 
under  their  green  skirts  until  it  dies  down  to  the 
earth.  This  cutting  of  the  foliage  does  not  interfere 
with  the  next  season's  flowers,  provided  that  these 
few  inches  are  left  to  help  mature  the  bulb.  The 
effect  of  the  arrangement  is  delightful  at  two  sepa- 
rate seasons,  which  is  one  of  the  main  ends  to 
secure  in  gardening. 

I  have  just  seen  the  four  best  plants  of  cyclamens 
which  it  has  ever  been  my  privilege  to  behold. 
Not  one  carried  less  than  two  hundred  buds  and 
blossoms.  The  proud  owner  told  me  their  history, 
and  I  make  haste  to  record  it. 

Twelve  months  ago  she  was  about  to  throw  away 
her  plants  as  old  and  worthless,  when  it  occurred  to 
her  to  split  one  of  them  up,  and  to  see  what  might 
happen.  Accordingly  she  took  a  corm  of  a  large 
white  kind,  and  divided  it  into  four  pieces,  leaving 
some  growing  points  on  each  and  carefully  dipping 
the  raw  edges  into  powdered  charcoal  to  heal  the 
cuts.  They  were  potted  up  separately  into  five- 
inch  pots,  and  put  on  a  greenhouse  shelf  near  the 
glass  until  they  began  to  grow,  when  they  were 
removed  to  a  cold  frame.  Twice  a  day  they  were 
syringed,  and  of  course  duly  watered,  and  in  August 
they  were  shifted  into  pots  one  size  larger,  and 
before  cold  weather  came  were  removed  into  a  cool 
house,  from  which  frost  was  barely  excluded.  Here 
they  have  remained  all  through  the  winter,  getting 
plenty  of  air  and  daily  moisture  overhead  as  well 
as  at  the  roots.  The  soil,  which  was  firmly  rammed 
into  the  pots,  consisted  of  two  parts  of  turf  mould, 


36  APRIL 

with  one  part  of  peat,  one  of  leaf  mould,  a  little 
soot,  and  a  liberal  quantity  of  sharp  sand.  The 
results  are  almost  incredible,  except  to  one  who 
has  seen  them. 

My  dislike  to  growing  greenhouse  plants  which 
have  to  stand  a  winter  before  their  flowering 
season  comes  does  not  apply  to  such  things  as 
may  be  kept  through  that  season  in  a  cold 
frame,  so  I  have  just  been  sowing  seeds  of  the 
chimney  campanula  to  decorate  the  greenhouse 
a  year  or  more  hence.  They  are  sown  thinly  in 
a  pan  of  sandy  soil  in  the  cool  house,  and  the 
seedlings,  when  they  are  large  enough  to  handle, 
are  pricked  out  into  thumb-pots  in  a  light  compost, 
and  then  moved  to  a  frame.  They  are  given  a 
shift  as  often  as  they  need  it,  which  may  be  twice 
or  thrice  throughout  the  summer,  care  being  taken 
to  prevent  their  getting  pot- bound  at  any  time.  In 
the  winter  they  are  kept  in  a  protected  cold  frame, 
although  no  special  anxiety  is  felt  about  them  if 
they  suffer  a  few  degrees  of  frost.  At  the  end  of 
February,  or  soon  after,  they  receive  their  final 
potting  into  seven-inch  pots,  or  even  larger  if 
necessary,  and  they  are  then  placed  in  the  green- 
house to  encourage  them  to  move.  As  soon  as  the 
flower  stems  appear  weak  liquid  manure  is  applied 
twice  a  week,  and  at  all  times  plenty  of  air  is  given. 
They  make  large  and  well-furnished  plants,  pro- 
vided that  care  is  taken  to  keep  them  as  cool  as 
I  have  indicated  through  all  their  stages  of  growth, 
for  hardy  things  will  not  do  their  best  if  unduly 
coddled.  These  and  the  cup-and-saucer  campanulas 
are  among  the  most  beautiful  plants  which  can  be 


APRIL  37 

grown  for  the  adornment  of  the  greenhouse  in  early 
summer,  and  it  is  wonderful  that  they  are  not  more 
seen,  although  no  doubt  the  reason  lies  in  the 
trouble' that  has  to  be  taken  to  ensure  stocky  growth. 
Another  important  provision  for  future  needs  is 
the  planting  out  of  violets  for  autumn  blooming. 
We  generally  try  to  use  for  this  purpose  only  the 
tufts  which  have  lived  out  of  doors  all  the  winter, 
as  they  are  hardier  and  healthier  than  those  which 
have  been  in  frames.  Each  separate  runner  is 
taken  from  the  old  plants  and  put  out  in  a  well- 
prepared  bed.  If  there  are  not  runners  enough 
single  crowns  are  used,  and  the  plants  are  placed 
a  foot  apart.  They  should  not  be  in  a  shady  spot, 
though  the  partial  shade  of  thin  fruit  trees  will  not 
hurt  them,  and  will  save  some  watering  in  dry 
weather.  But  the  labour  of  watering  must  not 
in  any  case  be  grudged  them,  for  on  this  will  de- 
pend their  value  next  winter.  They  should  have 
a  good  soaking  whenever  they  seem  to  be  getting 
dry,  and  a  certain  amount  of  weak  manure  water 
when  they  are  approaching  maturity  will  also  help 
them.  All  young  runners  are  removed  as  they 
appear,  and  at  the  end  of  August  we  go  round 
the  roots  with  the  spade  at  a  distance  of  several 
inches  from  the  plants.  This  leads  them  to  throw 
out  new  fibres,  which,  when  the  plants  are  trans- 
ferred to  the  frames  about  the  third  week  in 
September,  will  the  more  easily  accommodate 
themselves  to  their  new  soil  and  prevent  any 
check  being  felt  from  lifting.  At  the  time  of  their 
removal  they  will  be  bristling  with  buds,  and  unless 
they  suffer  from  too  much  kindness  directly  after- 


38  APRIL 

wards  they  should  give  large  quantities  of  flowers 
from  October  onwards. 

The  first  sowing  of  cinerarias  for  the  winter  is  now 
being  made,  and  cuttings  of  fibrous-rooted  begonias 
are  being  struck.  This  necessity  of  forethought 
is  generally  supposed  by  persons  who  are  not 
gardeners  to  be  an  intolerable  nuisance,  but  it  is  in 
reality  one  of  the  joys  of  floriculture  ;  the  flowers 
are  so  much  the  more  one's  children  if  one  has 
cherished  them  and  loved  them  before  they  had 
their  birth.  And  forethought  for  a  season  twelve 
months  hence  is  no  more  difficult  than  forethought 
for  the  near  summer,  when  once  the  gardener  has 
lived  in  the  routine  of  it.  It  would  be  as  impossible 
for  him,  or  for  her,  to  forget  to  strike  winter  zonal 
pelargoniums  in  March  as  to  ignore  their  flowers  if 
they  are  in  bloom  at  that  season.  The  very  name 
of  the  month  suggests  the  culture  of  some  plants, 
just  as  it  suggests  the  flowering  of  others  ;  and  this 
habit,  once  established  and  applied  to  each  season 
in  succession,  becomes  a  habit  of  devotion  as  well 
as  of  necessity.  April,  for  instance,  suggests  the 
pruning  of  tea  roses,  the  planting  of  gladioli,  the 
flowering  of  fritillaries,  and  a  hundred  other  things 
which  never  occur  to  the  remembrance  in  July  or 
August  or  any  other  inapposite  month.  The 
experienced  gardener  has  no  need  of  a  calendar 
to  remind  him  of  each  season's  work,  for  each  is  its 
own  remembrancer  and  sufficient  unto  itself  for  the 
purpose.  But  it  is  the  most  experienced  who  will 
have  such  fear  of  forgetting  that  he  will  renew  his 
memory  and  give  it  artificial  support  by  the  aid  of 
the  garden  diary. 


APRIL 


39 


I  think  Jim  is  the  most  reclusive  man  that  I  have 
ever  known  ;  he  is  also  entirely  different  from  any- 
body else,  which  is  so  very  comforting  in  a  person 


LYDIA    DIG 


with  whom  one  has  to  live.  For  one  thing,  he 
never  says  anything.  I  do  not  mean  that  if  you 
ask  him  a  question  he  will  not  reply  "  yes  "  or  "  no," 
or  that  he  will  refuse  to  do  a  fair  amount  of  conver- 
sational duty  when  the  necessity  is  forced  upon  him. 


40  APRIL 

But  he  never  thrusts  conversation  upon  you,  nor 
gets  opinionative,  nor  lays  down  the  law,  nor  in  any 
way  expresses  himself  when  he  can  possibly 
refrain  from  so  doing.  This  characteristic  is  so 
utterly  different  from  any  that  the  average  man  can 
boast  that  it  amounts  to  the  charm  of  eccentricity 
of  the  best  kind. 

Another  remarkable  thing  about  Jim  is  that  he 
never  tries  to  coerce  anybody.  If  a  servant  or 
other  person  takes  it  into  his  head  to  behave  in  an 
extraordinary  manner,  Jim  never  for  a  moment 
dreams  of  checking  him  ;  "I  daresay  he's  all  right, 
really,"  he  says.  And  it  is  the  same  thing  even 
with  the  animals.  He  has  to  keep  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  at  meal  times,  except  when  he  is  making 
use  of  them,  because  his  favourite  cat  claws  them 
in  order  to  attract  his  attention  and  to  induce  him 
to  give  her  portions  of  his  food.  I  have  certainly 
heard  him  make  a  sudden  and  somewhat  objurga- 
tory remark  when  he  has  not  taken  this  precaution, 
and  Lydia  Die  has  succeeded  in  her  wicked  inten- 
tion. His  cat's  name  is  Lydia,  though  the  reason 
why  I  have  never  been  able  to  discover,  and 
naturally  in  the  course  of  time  she  has  become 
known  as  Lydia  Die.  Any  other  person  would  hit 
Lydia  Die  and  break  her  of  her  bad  habit  in  a 
couple  of  days  ;  but  Jim  pretends  that  he  does  not 
really  object  to  it,  although  he  is  very  careful  to 
resort  when  necessary  to  the  safe  haven  of  those 
trouser  pockets. 

I  wonder  if  absent-minded  people  know  how 
absent-minded  they  are.  One  morning,  when  Jim 
made  no  beginning  to  eat  his  breakfast,  I  saw  him 


APRIL  41 

lifting  up  various  articles  from  the  table  and  put- 
ting them  back  again  with  an  air  of  dissatisfaction. 
He  examined  a  salt-cellar  on  every  side  and  under- 
neath ;  his  teaspoon  came  in  for  a  considerable 
share  of  attention,  and  so  did  the  knives  and  forks 
in  front  of  him.  I  passed  him  the  mustard,  but 
after  looking  at  it  carefully  he  put  it  down  again. 
Then  I  said,  "  Will  you  have  some  cold  chicken  ?  " 
and  he  replied  dreamily,  "  No,  thank  you." 

"Jim,"  I  said,  "if  you  say  the  word  aloud  we 
shall  very  likely  be  able  to  find  what  you  are 
looking  for.  What  is  it?" 

"Oh,  never  mind;  only  an  appetite,"  he  mur- 
mured, as  though  his  thoughts  were  millions  of 
miles  away  in  space.  He  has  always  stoutly 
denied  the  truth  of  this  story,  which  makes  me 
wonder  if  absent-minded  persons  know  how  absent- 
minded  they  are. 

Some  people  might  think  it  uncomfortable  to  live 
with  a  philosopher  whose  real  self  is  in  the  remotest 
mists  of  metaphysic  when  you  want  to  talk  about 
snapdragons  or  carnation  layers ;  but  the  oddest 
thing  of  all  is  that  just  when  you  imagine  he  is 
living  among  the  ancient  Greeks  he  wakes  up  to 
you  suddenly,  and  knows  everything  that  has  been 
going  on.  His  dreamy  blue  eyes  see  to  the  very 
bottom  of  you,  and  I  would  rather  trust  his  judg- 
ment of  character  than  that  of  most  persons.  We 
all  went  once  to  be  introduced  to  a  new  member  of 
the  family  of  whom  some  of  us  thought  we  had 
reason  to  be  rather  proud.  When  Jim  and  I  came 
away  I  said  to  him — 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Seraphina  ?  " 


42  APRIL 

"  Delightful !  "  replied  Jim. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Seraphina,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Very  nice,  I'm  sure." 

"  Jim,  what  do  you  think  of  Seraphina  ?" 

"Well,  as  a  woman  I  should  certainly  consider 
her  a  failure,"  he  answered. 

Some  years  have  passed,  and  there  are  others  of 
us  besides  Jim  who  consider  that  Seraphina  as  a 
woman  is  a  failure. 

Sometimes  I  think  that  it  is  not  study  alone 
which  has  given  Jim  his  far-away  look  and  quiet 
eyes,  and  ways  too  sedate  for  three-and-thirty  years. 
Nor  is  it  poverty,  though  he  had  known  wealth  and 
ease  before  there  came  the  necessity  for  work.  But 
this  is  a  thing  he  will  not  talk  about,  and  I  shall 
never  discover  whether  any  soreness  still  troubles 
him  about  that  old  time. 

It  seemed  a  good  time  to  us  while  it  lasted.  We 
had  hardly  known  our  parents  ;  and  a  benevolent 
grandfather  brought  us  all  up,  and  many  happy 
years  we  spent  together  in  the  grey  old  manor- 
house  on  the  other  side  of  the  village.  Jim  was 
formally  regarded  as  the  heir  to  the  property,  and 
life  promised  him  its  best  gifts  of  peace  and  plenty, 
when  the  old  man  died,  and  we  found  that  he  had 
left  nearly  everything  to  an  alien — a  distant  cousin 
whom  we  had  hardly  heard  of  and  never  seen. 
For  me  and  for  the  others  it  mattered  little  ;  our 
married  lives  were  full  and  happy  enough,  but  for 
the  boy  Jim — ah,  that  is  a  different  story.  He 
began  to  work,  for  he  was  too  proud  to  accept  what 
we  would  gladly  have  given,  and  for  five  long  years 
he  kept  want  just  a  little  in  front  of  him,  yet 


APRIL  43 

staring  him  in  the  face,  until  at  last  he  became  well 
known  in  that  small  circle  which  is  able  and  keen  to 
recognise  the  best  gifts.  And  then  he  began  to 
crave  for  the  old  place,  and  to  feel  that  his  work 
could  be  as  well  done  in  a  country  home  as  else- 
where ;  so,  since  by  that  time  the  ties  which  had 
bound  me  had  snapped  asunder,  we  came  back 
again,  comparatively  poor,  to  the  village  where  we 
had  spent  our  early  years  of  wealth.  It  was  the 
yearning  for  the  soil  and  its  native  homely  folk  that 
brought  Jim  back.  "  I  should  not  like  to  die  away 
from  them  all,"  he  said  when  he  first  told  me  what 
he  was  about  to  do  ;  and  I,  who  knew  how  deeply 
rooted  had  been  his  affection  for  these  humble 
friends  of  his  boyhood,  could  not  wonder  that  he 
should  wish  to  come  home  to  them. 

That  is  my  brother's  story,  so  far  as  it  goes  ;  but 
the  saddest  part  is  known  only  to  himself,  for  he  is 
not  one  who  has  ever  prated  of  his  troubles.  He 
is  happy  enough  now,  I  think,  though  I  could  desire 
fuller  joys  for  him,  and  little  children  to  drag  him 
from  his  books  and  make  him  seem  a  boy  again. 
But  I  do  not  think  this  will  ever  be,  though  some- 
times I  wonder — I  cannot  help  wondering ;  yet  the 
very  idea  is  impossible,  and  I  have  never  spoken  of 
it  to  mortal  being. 

April  25.  It  has  often  struck  me  as  odd  that 
no  one  has  ever  written  about  the  garden  boy.  In 
these  days,  when  we  have  life-histories  of  every 
genus  from  men  to  spiders,  nobody  has  ever  given 
us  the  life-history  of  the  garden  boy,  and  yet  no 
type  is  more  interesting  if  only  you  can  get  at  him, 
which  is  the  difficulty.  He  is  of  so  little  importance 


44  APRIL 

in  many  establishments  that  I  believe  there  are 
countless  employers  who  do  not  even  know  that 
they  have  a  garden  boy.  One  in  whom  I  was 
interested  found  a  situation  with  some  people  not 
many  miles  distant,  and  six  months  later,  when 
I  was  making  a  visit  of  ceremony,  I  inquired  for 
the  boy,  and  hoped  that  he  was  a  good  boy  and 
did  his  work  well.  My  hostess  looked  puzzled,  and 
said  she  did  not  think  they  had  a  garden  boy  ;  but 
I  persisted  with  her,  and  she  asked  me  if  by  any 
chance  I  could  remember  his  name.  By  some 
fortunate  chance  I  could  ;  his  name  was  Dick  Giles, 
and  she  turned  to  her  daughter  and  asked  if  there 
was  a  boy,  a  garden  boy,  on  the  place  named  Dick 
Giles.  The  daughter  was  inclined  to  think  there 
was  not,  but  the  master  of  the  house,  when  appealed 
to,  said  he  fancied  he  recollected  the  word  "  boy  " 
on  the  wage  list.  But  not  even  from  him  was  I 
able  to  discover  whether  the  boy  was  a  good  boy, 
or  a  clever  boy,  or  an  industrious  boy,  or  even  if  he 
was  the  very  boy  I  was  inquiring  for,  though  I 
knew  that  of  this  last  there  could  be  no  doubt,  for 
Dick  Giles  was  better  acquainted  with  his  employers 
than  they  with  him. 

If  we  could  hear  the  garden  boy's  opinion  of 
ourselves  we  should  be  astonished  at  its  truth  and 
directness.  No  one  is  a  better  judge  of  his  master, 
qua  man,  or  of  his  mistress,  qiid  woman,  than  he. 
He  is  a  profound  thinker,  and  this  of  necessity,  for 
he  is  able  but  infrequently  to  express  himself  in 
words,  lest  a  carrot  or  other  convenient  missile 
should  be  hurled  by  Sterculus  at  his  head,  to 
remind  him  that  garden  boys  should  hold  their 


APRIL 


45 


tongues.  But  establish  friendly  relations  with  your 
garden  boy  when  he  is  off  duty  in  the  evening,  and 
he  will  surprise  you  by  his  freedom  of  speech  and 
his  astute  comments  on  life.  He  will  tell  you  which 
of  our  regiments  are  engaged  in  the  inevitable 


MAY    I.    C.    U.    HOME,    MY   DEAR  ? ' 


African  or  Indian  guerilla  campaign,  and  whether 
the  generals  are  capable  of  carrying  the  business 
through  or  no.  He  will  discuss  with  you  the 
subjects  of  building,  agriculture,  local  government, 
and  the  recent  eclipse  with  the  fluency  and  acumen 
of  a  village  cobbler,  which  is  saying  all  that  may  be 


46  APRIL 

said.  He  will  bring  out  and  exhibit  with  pride  the 
little  badges  which  Sterculus  has  never  set  eyes 
upon — the  miniature  penny  portrait  of  the  latest 
military  hero,  and  the  white  bone  disc  bearing  the 
inscription,  "  May  I.  C.  U.  home,  my  dear?"  which 
he  attaches  to  his  buttonhole  on  Sundays  and 
holidays,  to  the  envy  of  less  fortunate  children. 
He  will  let  you  see  that  he  regards  you  as  an  ally 
defensive  against  Sterculus,  who  in  the  matter  of 
an  occasional  "day  off"  has  sometimes  to  be  en- 
countered and  defeated,  he  maintaining  that  garden 
boys  "  didn't  ought  to  want  no  holidays."  In  short 
he  will  prove  to  you  that  the  garden  boy  is  as  well 
worthy  of  study  as  the  spider  or  the  ant,  or  even 
the  monkey,  which  he  is  sometimes  supposed  to 
resemble,  and  that  you  have  neglected  a  means  of 
investigating  an  interesting  side  of  human  nature 
until  you  have  made  his  intimate  acquaintance. 

Garden  boys  are  full  of  ambition.  I  never  knew 
one  who  was  not  determined  to  get  to  the  top  of 
some  tree  or  another — not  a  garden  tree  as  a  rule. 
Our  present  boy,  when  he  is  eighteen — nearly  four 
years  hence — will  go  into  the  Army  and  rapidly 
become  a  general  of  artillery.  The  last  was  deter- 
mined to  be  a  successful  pirate,  but  has  now  settled 
down  to  assist  his  father  in  hawking  bloaters. 
"  You  can  get  about  and  see  the  world  nicely  that 
way,"  he  says.  The  one  immediately  preceding 
him  was  almost  more  than  a  boy  when  he  left  us, 
and  it  was  only  under  a  species  of  compulsion, 
when  I  had  pointed  out  the  inadequacy  of  five 
shillings  a  week  for  a  young  man  of  eighteen  and 
insisted  that  I  should  find  him  a  more  lucrative 


APRIL  47 

place,  that  he  consented  *  to  depart,  provided  that 
he  might  give  up  gardening  for  stable  work.  "  If  I 
leaves  here  I  shan't  stop  till  I'm  head  coachman  to 
a  duke,"  he  said.  That  was  four  years  ago,  and  as 
he  is  now  second  coachman  to  an  earl,  he  appears 
to  be  in  a  fair  way  to  realise  his  ambition. 

So  keen  is  our  present  boy  about  the  Army  that 
last  year  he  actually  ran  away  to  enlist.  One 
morning  he  failed  to  appear  at  his  work,  and 
presently  an  agitated  mother  turned  up,  saying  that 
the  boy  had  left  home,  and  no  one  could  guess 
what  had  become  of  him.  But  I  could  guess  ;  and 
the  following  telegram  was  soon  flying  over  the 
wires  to  the  recruiting  officers  in  the  nearest  country 
towns  :— 

"Boy  run  away,  supposed  to  enlist.  Under  age 
and  in  my  employment.  Name,  Thomas  Evans. 
Please  return." 

The  next  morning  when  I  went  out  into  the 
garden  Thomas  Evans  was  weeding  the  onion  bed. 
I  said  to  him  with  severity — 

"  I  should  like  to  know,  Thomas,  what  is  your 
opinion  about  your  conduct  yesterday." 

"  My  opinion  is  that  it  was  very  bad  conduct, 
ma'am,"  replied  Thomas  in  a  voice  tremulous  with 
tears  he  was  too  proud  to  shed. 

And  then  and  there  we  made  a  compact,  which 
we  ratify  at  intervals,  and  which  both  Thomas  and 
I  regard  as  quite  satisfactory.  But  it  cannot  be 
carried  into  effect  until  over  three  years  from  this 
present  time,  and  in  the  meanwhile  the  garden  is 
to  receive  the  best  of  our  care  and  loving  attention. 

Thomas   has   a  keen  eye  for  natural  objects   of 


48  APRIL 

interest.  Even  the  sight  of  a  pheasant  flying 
heavily  over  the  garden  will  make  him  yearn  to 
share  the  pleasure  of  watching  it  with  another 
appreciative  gazer ;  but  this  tendency  is  sternly 
repressed  by  Sterculus.  This  morning,  when  Ster- 
culus  was  engaged  in  clipping  the  edges  of  a  flower- 
bed, Thomas  following  him  to  pick  up  the  bits  of 
grass,  I  was  surprised  to  hear,  as  I  thought,  the 
harsh  cry  of  the  green  woodpecker  from  the  very 
bed  on  which  they  were  engaged.  When  I  looked 
up  there  was  Thomas  carefully  posed  behind 
Sterculus's  back,  a  grimy  finger  upheld  to  warn 
me  that  something  of  interest  was  in  the  very  act 
of  happening,  and  an  eye  kept  the  while  on  his 
tyrant,  who  was  quite  incapable  even  of  realising 
that  a  green  woodpecker's  note  had  been  sounded 
to  attract  my  attention.  I  listened,  and  from  the 
grove  on  the  far  hillside  came  the  call,  so  long 
expected  and  this  year  so  long  delayed — "  Cuckoo! 
cuckoo ! " 

I  wonder  if  the  notes  of  the  cuckoo  vary  in 
different  countries.  In  Beethoven's  Scene  am 
Bach  his  song  is  given  as  D  natural  and  B  flat. 
Our  cuckoos  certainly  have  a  higher  register.  I 
have  never  tested  their  notes  with  a  pitch  pipe  very 
early  in  the  season,  but  in  the  last  week  of  last 
June  I  remember  to  have  found  all  the  cuckoos 
singing  F  natural  to  D  flat.  If  the  song  is  D 
natural  to  B  flat  when  he  first  comes  over  and 
then  changes  to  F  natural  and  D  flat,  this  would 
account  for  the  assertion  in  the  old  rhyme — - 

"In  leafy  June 
He'll  change  his  tune." 


APRIL  49 

But  this  saying  probably  refers  to  the  rougher 
and  hoarser  voice  which  he  produces  for  a  few 
weeks  before  flying,  and  to  the  "  Cuck-cuckoo " 
variation  in  the  song-. 

o 

I  suppose  that  one  of  the  reasons  why  the 
cuckoo  rouses  so  much  interest  in  us  is  that  he 
seems,  as  Sterculus  says,  to  have  "all  the  evil 
passions  of  a  Christian."  There  is  no  doubt,  at 
any  rate,  that  some  very  human  faults  beset  him, 
for  he  is  selfish,  cruel,  and  unprincipled,  and  it  is  in 
reality  through  these  unworthy  traits  that  he  im- 
presses the  imagination,  while  professing  to  do  so 
in  the  character  of  harbinger  of  spring.  I  have 
just  been  reading  Dr.  Alexander  Japp's  book,  Our 
Common  Cuckoo,  and  I  confess  that  I  think  con- 
siderably less  of  the  cuckoo's  moral  nature  than 
I  did  before  I  read  it,  while  giving  him  credit  still 
for  such  powers  of  self-seeking  as  adapt  him  for 
getting  on  in  the  world. 

There  seems  to  be  no  doubt  that  the  female 
cuckoo  lays  her  eggs  on  the  ground,  and  carries 
them  at  once  in  her  beak  to  a  convenient  nest ; 
they  are  found  very  often  in  nests  so  small  and 
so  awkwardly  placed  that  the  intruding  mother 
could  not  by  any  possibility  sit  on  them.  There 
are  one  hundred  and  twenty  different  kinds  of  nests 
in  which  the  cuckoo  is  recorded  to  have  left  her 
eggs,  but  the  most  common  is  that  of  the  hedge- 
sparrow,  who  will  brood  with  patience  eggs  so 
unlike  her  own  that  it  has  even  been  suggested 
that  she  is  colour-blind. 

The  eggs  of  cuckoos  show  a  remarkable  range 
of  variation.  Mr.  Seebohm,  in  his  supplement  to 
E 


So  APRIL 

British  Birds,  has  given  carefully  coloured  illustra- 
tions of  as  many  as  fifteen  varieties,  ranging  from 
blue  to  brown  and  from  blotched  to  spotted  speci- 
mens. Controversy  seems  to  rage  round  this  fact, 
one  naturalist  asserting  that  the  coloration  is  an 
hereditary  faculty  ;  that  each  female  cuckoo  lays 
a  particular  type  of  egg ;  and  that  the  cuckoo 
which  lays  blue  eggs  takes  care  to  deposit  them 
in  the  nest  of  some  blue-egg-laying  species,  and 
so  on.  Another  authority  maintains  that  the  blue 
eggs  of  the  cuckoo  are  more  frequently  found  in 
nests  of  birds  with  brownish  eggs  than  in  those 
with  eggs  of  blue,  so  that  the  specialised  colour- 
ing is  misleading  and  purposeless.  Another,  again, 
seems  to  think  that  the  variation  is  purely  accidental, 
and  that,  if  it  were  not,  the  cuckoo  mother  would 
be  taking  upon  herself  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary 
trouble,  since  the  foster  parents  of  many  species 
are  so  easily  deceived,  and  make  no  objection 
whatever  to  receiving  and  hatching  the  alien.  This 
naturalist  is  also  of  opinion  that  other  causes  must 
be  looked  for  to  account  for  the  variation,  such  as 
the  age  of  the  bird,  or  defective  organisation. 

Why  does  the  cuckoo  rely  on  foster-parents 
for  the  upbringing  of  her  young?  There  are 
some  charitably  minded  ornithologists  who  would 
fain  persuade  us  that  her  stomach  is  so  placed  as 
to  get  in  the  way  when  she  would  sit,  and  that 
brooding  is  in  consequence  impossible.  Yet  there 
are  well-authenticated  cases  of  cuckoos  hatching 
out  their  own  young,  and  the  night-jar,  which 
suffers  from  a  similar  anatomical  disability,  never 
tries  to  shirk  her  maternal  duties.  Others  imagine 


APRIL  51 

that  she  has  the  instinct  of  the  preservation  of 
the  species  so  strongly  developed  that  her  action 
practically  amounts  to  self-abnegation — that  the 
particular  food  upon  which  she  most  depends  be- 
comes so  scarce  that  she  would  not  find  it  possible 
to  provide  for  herself  and  her  family  too,  so  that 
she  resigns  all  unwillingly  the  sweet  privileges  of 
maternity  to  the  foster-parents.  Her  young  are 
so  voracious  that  it  is  a  hard  matter  for  a  pair  of 
sparrows  or  titlarks  to  satisfy  a  single  infant  bird. 


THE   NIGHT-JAR 

But  here  again  too  much,  I  think,  is  conceded 
to  the  supposed  moral  purpose  and  rectitude  of 
the  female  cuckoo.  She  is  an  insectivorous  bird, 
and  she  prefers  for  her  young  the  nest  of  other 
insectivorous  birds.  But  when  a  home  is  hard  to 
find,  or  when  she  is  too  lazy  to  devote  much  time 
to  the  search,  she  will  deposit  them  in  the  nests  of 
seed-  or  fruit-eating  birds  ;  and  this  diet  supplied  by 
them  to  their  foster-child  causes  it  to  flourish  equally 
well  as  when  fed  upon  the  natural  caterpillar  or  insect 


52  APRIL 

diet.  If  the  cuckoo  mother  would  make  up  her 
mind  to  eat  commonplace  food,  and  would  not 
be  such  an  epicure  as  to  insist  on  nothing  but 
choice  live  morsels,  she  could  very  well  provide 
both  for  herself  and  her  young,  so  that  what 
naturalists  try  to  make  us  believe  to  be  self- 
sacrifice  in  her  is  obviously  sheer  laziness  and  un- 
exampled greed. 

One  might  be  inclined  to  look  for  some  saving 
grace  in  the  young  cuckoo  of  tender  age ;  but 
Dr.  Japp  tells  us  that  the  fact  is  indisputable  that 
he  is  as  unscrupulous  as  his  mother,  for  he  murders 
his  foster-brethren  as  soon  as  he  has  sense  to 
perceive  that  they  deprive  him  of  food  which  would 
in  their  absence  be  all  his.  By  the  time  he  is  three 
days  old  he  has  tilted  the  other  young  nestlings 
over  the  edge  of  the  nest,  together  with  any  eggs 
which  may  remain  there,  using  his  back  as  a  kind 
of  shovel  and  his  wings  as  hands.  Verily  it  may 
be  said  of  him  that  by  a  process  of  development 
he  has  actually  become  shapen  in  wickedness,  for 
his  back  has  taken  a  hollow  form  which  enables 
him  to  accomplish  this  heartless  operation  with 
perfect  ease. 

But  to  return  to  the  old  cuckoos.  If  they  are 
idle  and  greedy  at  laying  time,  they  are  simply 
barbarous  when  July  comes  and  they  make  ready 
to  migrate.  The  elder  birds  quit  this  country 
without  the  slightest  regard  for  their  offspring, 
who  are  not  yet  ready  to  fly.  It  seems  as  if  this 
further  characteristic  was  intended  to  put  a  final 
touch  to  the  illustration  of  their  general  immorality, 
for  I  believe  they  are  the  only  birds  which  leave 


APRIL 


53 


in  the  autumn  without  seeing  their  children  safely 
started  on  the  long  journey  to  Africa.     There  are 


YOUNG    CUCKOO    EJECTING    HIS    FOSTER-BRETHREN 


persons  who  go  so  far  as  to  assert  that  the  older 
cuckoos  are  obliged  to  lay  their  eggs  in  alien  nests 
and  to  leave  to  strangers  the  sustenance  of  their 


54  APRIL 

young,  because  the  time  of  their  migration  is  so 
early  that  they  could  not  perform  these  duties 
effectively,  and  therefore,  purely  from  conscientious 
motives,  they  think  it  best  not  to  attempt  to  per- 
form them  at  all.  These  persons  even  compare 
the  cuckoo  favourably  with  the  swift,  whose  migra- 
tory instinct  in  autumn  is  so  strong  that  it  sometimes 
leaves  late  broods  to  starve  because  it  has  a  craving 
to  be  on  the  wing.  "  The  mother  cuckoo, "  they  seem 
to  say,  "  is  a  pattern  of  birds ;  rather  than  run 
any  risk  for  her  offspring  she  resigns  the  parental 
joys  to  which  she  is  entitled.  Could  self-renuncia- 
tion go  farther  ? " 

How  is  it  that  those  birds  in  whose  nests  the 
cuckoo  leaves  her  young  do  not  detect  the  fraud 
and  eject  the  egg  or  make  another  nest  ?  There 
are  many  ornithologists  who  think  that  birds  are  so 
deficient  in  the  senses  of  touch  and  smell  that  they 
cannot  even  perceive  when  they  have  been  imposed 
upon.  It  has  also  been  said,  contrariwise,  that  the 
female  cuckoo  deposits  in  the  nest  that  she  has 
selected  for  her  offspring  a  few  of  her  own  feathers 
before  she  leaves  her  egg,  so  that  the  foster-mother 
may  become  accustomed  to  the  cuckoo  smell,  and 
will  not  detect  any  peculiarity  in  the  egg  when 
it  is  placed  there.  But  there  have  been  cred- 
ible cases  of  such  offence  being  taken  at  the 
intrusion  that  the  victimised  bird  has  actually  built 
a  new  floor  over  the  cuckoo's  egg  and  left  it  to 
itself  in  the  basement,  while  she  has  triumphantly 
brooded  a  new  family  on  the  first  storey.  This 
would  surely  show  that  she  has  possession  of  one 
of  the  senses  which  would  enable  her  to  detect  the 


APRIL  55 

fraud.  Dr.  Japp,  for  his  part,  declares  that  the 
senses  of  touch  and  smell  in  birds  are  very  keen  ; 
the  coot,  he  tells  us,  will  not  sit  upon  ducks'  eggs. 
And  he  narrates  a  story  of  an  ornithologist  who 
made  experiments  with  a  woodpecker's  nest.  He 
cut  a  circular  piece  out  of  the  tree  just  below  the 
nest  and,  extracting  the  woodpecker's  egg,  he 
substituted  for  it  a  thrush's  egg.  Then  he  filled 
up  the  hole  with  the  bung,  colouring  it  over  exactly 
like  the  bark  of  the  tree.  The  woodpecker  stuck 
to  her  nest,  and  when  she  had  laid  four  more  eggs 
he  took  out  the  bung,  and  found  that  the  thrush's 
egg  had  been  rolled  out  of  the  nest  into  a  recess, 
although  the  place  was  quite  dark,  and  detection 
through  the  sense  of  sight  must  have  been  im- 
possible. 

If  Nature  has  armed  the  coot  and  the  wood- 
pecker with  a  sense  so  keen  as  to  prevent  their 
incubating  alien  eggs,  why  has  she  not  provided 
other  smaller  birds  with  this  instinct  ?  For  them 
even  more  than  for  the  larger  birds  it  would  seem 
an  important  gift,  their  nests  being  more  liable  to 
intrusion ;  so  that  the  coot  and  the  woodpecker 
and  a  few  others  are  given  an  instinct  that  is 
practically  never  called  into  exercise,  while  on 
birds  which  need  this  instinct  more  Nature  has 
apparently  failed  to  bestow  it. 

But  Dr.  Japp  does  not  believe  that  Nature  has 
treated  these  little  birds  badly.  He  thinks  that 
their  senses  are  no  less  keen  than  those  of  the 
others,  and  that  for  a  few  instances  recorded  of 
a  bird  building  over  a  parasitical  egg  there  are  pro- 
bably countless  others  which  escape  notice.  If,  as 


56  APRIL 

some  naturalists  hold,  the  cuckoo  lays  five  eggs  or 
thereabouts,  the  balance  of  bird  life  in  hitherto 
understood  conditions  would  be  so  upset  that  the 
cuckoos  would  far  outnumber  the  smaller  birds  and 
gradually,  through  ousting  them,  would  entail  their 
eventual  disappearance.  Yet  the  number  of  young 
cuckoos  seen  in  a  single  season  is  not  in  excess  of 
the  old  ones,  and  the  obvious  conclusion  is  that  the 
smaller  birds  are  not  so  stupid  as  they  have  been 
thought ;  that  they  know  and  dislike  the  intrusion 
of  the  cuckoo's  egg  ;  and  that  in  innumerable  in- 
stances resort  has  been  had  to  the  new  storey  in 
the  house,  and  the  parasitical  egg  has  been  care- 
fully buried  when  it  has  not  been  turned  out  of  the 
nest  or  destroyed. 

But  instinct  seems  to  fail  the  small  birds  just 
where  it  might  most  reasonably  be  looked  for. 
When  the  young  cuckoo  is  hatched  the  foster- 
mother  will  starve  herself  to  death  rather  than  fail 
to  supply  its  ravenous  demands.  And  when  she  is 
dead  the  vociferant  cries  of  the  infant  will  attract 
neighbouring  birds,  so  that  they  come  and  continue 
the  supply,  strangers  though  they  are  to  the  nest- 
ling. A  cuckoo  in  confinement  has  been  known  to 
be  fed  by  a  wren,  who  brought  food  to  the  cage  ; 
and  another,  caged  with  some  American  blue 
robins,  had  only  to  open  its  mouth  and  one  of 
the  robins  would  drop  all  its  tit-bits  into  the  larger 
bird's  capacious  maw.  So  that  it  seems  as  though 
the  instinct  of  certain  species  is  proved  to  be  of 
absolute  use  to  another  species  which  thrives  to  its 
detriment — a  condition  which  Darwin  asserted  to 
be  unknown.  It  is  strange  that  one  bird  should  be 


APRIL  57 

protected  by  another  at  its  own  expense,  and  that, 
as  Goethe  observed,  from  six  to  a  dozen  singing- 
birds  may  be  sacrificed  for  a  single  cuckoo. 

The  fact  is  that  the  young  monster,  the  intruded 
cuckoo,  seems  to  exercise  a  fascination  over  the 
smaller  birds,  who  lose  all  sense  of  protective  duty 
to  their  young,  and  even  to  themselves,  while  they 
are  apparently  possessed  of  admiration  and  pride  in 
the  gluttonous  interloper — so  much  larger  and  more 
insistent  than  any  child  they  have  hitherto  reared. 

It  is  an  interesting  question  whether  the  young 
cuckoo  learns  its  tribal  song;  from  instinct  or 

o 

whether  its  first  chirp  is  that  of  its  foster-parents. 
Evidence  is  sparse  on  the  point,  but  it  seems  to 
lean  to  the  side  of  the  first  contention,  although  an 
acute  observer,  Lord  Lilford,  brought  evidence  to 
bear  which  tends  to  support  the  contrary  theory. 
He  owned  a  young  cuckoo  from  the  time  that  it 
was  taken  from  the  nest  until  it  was  two  years  old, 
and  its  only  song  was  a  chirp,  although  it  was  once 
heard  to  make  an  attempt,  which  was  a  sad  failure, 
at  the  normal  cuckoo  call.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
a  certain  Mr.  Cochrane,  a  bird  dealer  of  Edinburgh, 
was  the  possessor  of  a  cuckoo  which  persistently 
sang  its  song  through  two  summers.  It  had  been 
taken  from  a  meadow-pipit's  nest  in  Wigtonshire, 
and  was  brought  up  by  hand.  Very  soon  it  was 
tamed  and  became  a  family  pet,  being  allowed  con- 
siderable liberty  in  Mr.  Cochrane's  house.  It  ate 
food  from  the  hand  with  perfect  confidence,  and 
must  have  been  a  voracious  feeder,  for  it  is  recorded 
that  at  one  sitting  it  had  been  known  to  consume 
seventy-three  meal-worms.  It  would  also  enjoy 


58  APRIL 

sultana  raisins,  meat,  lettuce  and  other  vegetables, 
young  frogs,  and  hard-boiled  eggs. 

Its  first  moulting  was  in  February,  1897,  anc^  one 
evening  in  the  following  April  at  about  nine  o'clock, 
when  sitting  on  the  fender  and  enjoying  the  heat  of 
the  fire,  it  began  its  cuckoo  song.  There  had  been 
no  opportunity  of  learning  from  other  cuckoos,  for 
this  one  had  been  reared  among  parrots,  canaries, 


THE   CUCKOO 


and  bullfinches.  In  July  it  ceased  singing,  and  the 
migratory  instinct  was  evidently  strong,  for  it 
became  exceedingly  restless.  After  a  time,  how- 
ever, it  quieted  down,  moulted  once  more  in 
February,  and  again  in  April  began  to  sing,  though 
this  time  less  clearly  than  in  the  previous  year.  It 
was  evidently  in  failing  health,  but  up  to  the  last  its 
eye  continued  bright  and  its  appetite  unimpaired. 
It  died  in  the  autumn  of  1898. 


APRIL  59 

Another  bird  kept  in  confinement  for  over  a  year 
frequently  attempted  to  make  its  onomatopoeic  call, 
but  never  got  fairly  beyond  an  indistinct  first 
syllable.  So  that  the  little  evidence  obtainable 
on  the  subject  is  insufficient  to  settle  the  question 
whether  the  cuckoo's  song  is  instinctive  or  imitative. 
More  observation  is  needed  to  decide  the  point,  and 
any  evidence  concerning  it  should  be  recorded,  so 
that  in  time  the  matter  may  be  set  at  rest.  A  great 
deal  has  been  discovered  of  late  years  about  the 
habits  of  the  cuckoo,  but  much  remains  to  discover, 
and  I  fancy  that  the  better  we  know  him — and  per- 
haps more  especially  her — the  less  respect  we  shall 
have  for  the  family  in  general.  John  Milton,  who 
knew  most  things,  had  but  a  small  opinion  of  the 
cuckoo,  and  doubtless  could  have  instructed  us  on 
the  subject ;  but  he  has  refrained  from  any  specific 
accusation,  and  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of 
his  sonnets  merely  alludes  to  him  as  the  "rude 
Bird  of  Hate,"  and  prays  that  he  may  not  hear  his 
song  before  he  has  listened  to  that  of  the  nightin- 
gale, which  will  bring  him  the  love  for  which  he 


& 
craves. 


"  O  Nightingale,  that  on  yon  bloomy  Spray 
Warbl'st  at  eeve,  when  all  the  Woods  are  still, 
Thou  with  fresh  hope  the  Lovers  heart  dost  fill, 
While  the  jolly  hours  lead  on  propitious  May, 
Thy  liquid  notes  that  close  the  eye  of  Day, 
First  heard  before  the  shallow  Cuccoo's  bill 
Portend  success  in  love ;  O  if  Jove's  will 
Have  linkt  that  amorous  power  to  thy  soft  lay, 
Now  timely  sing,  ere  the  rude  Bird  of  Hate 
Foretell  my  hopeles  doom  in  som  Grove  ny : 
As  thou  from  yeer  to  yeer  hast  sung  too  late 
For  my  relief;  yet  hadst  no  reason  why, 
Whether  the  Muse,  or  Love  call  thee  his  mate, 
Both  them  I  serve,  and  of  their  train  am  I." 


MAY 


May  \  "\  7  E  have  had  a  day  of  unprecedented 
2-  V  V  and  unforeseen  excitements. 
Yesterday  was  May  Day — not  only  the  first 
day  of  May  according  to  the  calendar,  but  a 
real  old-fashioned  day  of  May  revellings,  such  as 
our  village  must  have  known  three  hundred  years 
ago.  Jim  and  the  Vicar  are  responsible  for  it,  and, 
as  a  consequence,  they  both  wear  a  flat  and  care- 
laden  aspect  this  morning,  which  seems  ominous  of 
expected  catastrophe.  For  my  part  the  catastrophes 
which  have  already  occurred  seem  sufficiently  un- 
pleasant to  discourage  further  revelling. 

It  must  be  about  two  months  since  that  Jim  and 
I  were  paying  a  first  visit  to  Mrs.  Vicarius  when 
our  new  Vicar  broached  his  bright  idea  to  us.  He 
wanted  to  reinstitute  old  parish  festivals,  to  have 
Twelfth  Night  commemorations,  May  Day  junket- 
ings, beating  the  bounds,  and  half  a  dozen  other 
parochial  gaieties.  He  came  in  hot  with  his 
scheme  and  appealed  to  Jim,  with  whom  he 
had  already  established  a  kind  of  friendship.  It 
appears  that  Mr.  Curtice  chooses  to  call  himself 
a  mediae valist,  and  he  besought  Jim  as  a  brother 
antiquary  to  support  him.  Jim  is,  of  course,  a 

60 


MAY  6 1 

person  who  cannot  be  labelled,  but  it  is  impossible 
to  deny  that  his  life  is  spent  in  a  period  about  two 
thousand  years  agone,  and  the  idea  of  reverting 
to  scenes  of  a  mere  three  centuries  past  seemed 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  him.  Mrs.  Vicarius 
protested,  and  I  supported  her  in  a  half-hearted 
way ;  but  the  Vicar  is  a  masterful  man,  and  he 
gained  his  point  in  the  end. 

"It  will  be  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  she  said. 

"  There  are  plenty  who  will  share  it,"  cried  he. 

"  And  very  expensive." 

"We  shall  get  subscriptions.  I  don't  anticipate 
any  difficulty  at  all." 

"You  wouldn't,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Vicarius  softly. 
"  But  I  don't  see  the  object  of  it." 

"The  object  is  to  provide  amusement  for  the 
villagers.  Why  do  they  leave  the  country  and 
go  to  live  in  towns  ?  Because  rural  life  is  so  dull 
and  circumscribed.  It  was  only  yesterday  that 
I  was  reading  an  article  on  the  subject  by  one  of 
our  Berkshire  historians.  He  said  that  the  old 
revels  infused  poetic  feeling  into  the  villagers,  and 
softened  their  manners,  and  prevented  their  grow- 
ing hard  and  discontented.  He  said  that  the 
ancient  festivals  promoted  good  relations  between 
rich  and  poor,  between  farmer  and  labourer.  If 
we  could  help  in  a  humble  way  to  bring  back 
the  good  old  days  of  contentment  in  our  rural 
population  I  should  count  no  trouble  too  great." 

He  looked  appealingly  at  Mrs.  Curtice,  who  gave 
in  at  once.  She  would  rather  die  than  thwart  her 
husband  in  a  matter  which  she  knows  he  has  taken 
to  heart. 


62  MAY 

So  yesterday  we  had  our  revels,  and  very  in- 
teresting they  were  in  ways  totally  unexpected. 

The  Vicar  and  Jim  were  so  determined  to  do 
the  thing  thoroughly  that  the  latter  actually  pro- 
duced an  old  Survey  of  the  parish,  temp. 
Edward  VI.,  and  attempted  to  trace  out  the 
revelling-place  of  former  times.  He  decided  that 
a  field  which  bore  the  name  of  The  Butts  was 
probably  the  scene  of  ancient  hilarity,  and  that 
it  should  also  witness  our  modern  revellings.  It 
was  near  the  village  green  for  one  thing,  which 
made  it  a  convenient  resort ;  and,  for  another,  it 
was  surrounded  by  a  high  fence  which  allowed 
the  impresario  of  the  dramatic  company  to  conduct 
rehearsals  in  privacy  within  its  sheltered  precincts. 
There  was  much  trouble,  which  the  promoters  of 
the  scheme  tried  to  keep  to  themselves,  in  carrying 
through  these  rehearsals  of  their  open-air  play, 
Robin  Hood.  Of  course  I  was  told  nothing  about 
it  by  either  Jim  or  the  Vicar,  but  one  of  the 
actresses  informed  me  in  private  of  the  agitation 
caused  in  the  highest  circles  by  the  vagaries  of 
Maid  Marian,  who  persisted  throughout  in  making 
love  to  Friar  Tuck,  instead  of  responding  to  the 
advances  of  her  chartered  lover. 

Now  Friar  Tuck  was  in  his  rightful  person  the 
young  brother  of  the  Vicar,  at  home  under  a 
species  of  compulsion  exercised  by  the  authorities 
at  Oxford,  and  it  was  easy  to  guess  that  he  would 
not  be  slow  to  encourage  Maid  Marian  in  her 
naughtiness. 

However,  the  day  came  at  last,  and  brightly 
enough  it  broke.  Jim  had  composed  a  May  song, 


MAY  63 

made  of  double  chants.  He  is  peculiar  in  his 
musical  tastes,  and  after  Beethoven's  sonatas,  which 
satisfy  him  better  than  anything  else  in  music,  he 
prefers  a  good  double  chant.  I  am  certain  that  I 
heard  him  one  evening  at  his  study  piano  trying  to 


MAID   MARIAN   AND   FRIAR   TUCK 


make  a  part-song  out  of  one  of  the  sonatas,  but  in 
all  probability  he  failed  to  adapt  it  comfortably  to 
the  words,  which  he  had  also  composed,  so  he  fell 
back  upon  a  few  of  his  favourite  double  chants,  and 
fashioned  quite  a  creditable  madrigal  out  of  them. 
The  air  had  been  played  by  village  concertinas 


64 


MAY 


under  his  tuition,  sung  at  convivial  meetings,  and 
tootled  by  the  juvenile  drum-and-fife  band  until  we 
were  all  familiar  with  it. 

On  the  morning  of  May  Day  nothing  but  Jim's 
May  song  was  heard   in  the  village.      So  far  the 


"WHAT  DO  HE  SAY,  BETTY?" 


festival  was  a  complete  success.  The  revels  proper 
were  to  begin  immediately  after  the  village  dinner- 
hour.  Punctually  at  two  o'clock  we  assembled  on 
the  green,  the  parish  clerk  as  bellman,  dressed  in 
our  late  Vicar's  clerical  garb,  and  the  parish  warden, 
Farmer  Stubbs,  as  prompter,  occupying  prominent 
places  beside  Jim  and  Mr.  Curtice. 


THE   PARISH  CLERK  AS  BELLMAN 


MAY  65 

"  Oyez  !  Oyez  !  Oyez  !  "  cried  the  Vicar,  with  all 
the  power  of  his  particularly  sound  lungs. 

"What  do  he  say,  Betty?  What  do  he  say?" 
asked  deaf  old  Tummus  Chalk  of  his  deaf  old  wife. 

"  He  be  gone  silly,  sims  to  I,"  responded  Betty 
sadly. 

4 'Oyez!  Oyez!  Oyez!  We  strictly  charge  and 
command  that  all  persons  here  assembled  do  keep 
the  peace  upon  pain  of  five  pounds  to  be  forfeited 
to  the  Lady  of  the  Manor,  and  their  bodies  to  be 
imprisoned  at  her  pleasure.  Also  that  no  manner 
of  person  within  these  precincts  do  bear  any  bill, 
battle-axe,  or  other  weapon.  Also  that  no  person 
do  unseemly  for  any  grudge  or  malice  make  pertur- 
bation or  trouble  upon  pain  of  five  pounds  and  their 
bodies—  What  is  the  matter  ?  Where  are  they 
going  ?  " 

For  the  crowd  was  melting  away  towards  The 
Butts,  with  the  exception  of  our  little  party  and  old 
Betty  and  Tummus. 

"  An'  a  very  good  sarmon  too,"  said  old  Tummus 
in  his  cracked  voice,  with  an  attempt  at  consolation, 
"  so  fur  as  it  went,  'wevver.  An'  I  allus  stands  up 
fer  thy  sarmons,  passon,  whatever  folks  med  say." 

Betty  shook  him  by  the  coat-sleeve. 

"  'Tent  a  sarmon,"  she  bawled  ;     "  'tis   summat 
dotty-like,  wi'  no  sense   in't.      Don't  say   nowt  or 
they'll  visit  it  on  'ee.     Come  on  home." 
|          And  they  hobbled  away  across  the  green. 

The  rest  of  us  followed  the  other  revellers  to 
The  Butts,  our  enthusiasm  dashed  for  the  moment. 

But  the  main  interest  of  the  day  was  to  centre 
on  the  doings  within  the  enclosed  precincts  of  The 


66 


MAY 


Butts,  and  when  we  had  passed  the  turnstile  a  won- 
derful sight  was  ours.  One  end  of  the  field  had 
been  made  into  a  bower,  and  a  part  of  it  screened 
off  by  fences  of  green  boughs  into  retiring  rooms 
for  the  actors.  In  the  bower  the  play  was  to  be 
acted,  while  we  of  the  outside  public  sat  on  the  turf 


THE   CONSEQUENCES    WERE   OBVIOUS 

and  looked  and  listened.  But  surely  something  was 
amiss.  The  Vicar  hurried  to  and  fro,  darting  from 
one  screened  enclosure  to  another,  and  ribald  sounds 
went  up  behind  the  scenes. 

I  never  knew  until  afterwards  what  was  wrong, 
and  why  the  play  came  to  an  end  or  ever  it  had 
begun.  It  appears  that  although  every  maid  in  the 
village  had  been  willing  and  eager  to  act  a  part,  it 


MAY  67 

had  been  inordinately  difficult  to  persuade  any  of 
the  young  men  to  join  in  the  mumming.  Jack 
Curtice,  however,  being  himself  a  young  man  and 
knowing  the  ways  of  young  men,  had  persuaded 
two  rustic  youths  to  accept  the  parts  of  Robin  Hood 
and  Little  John  by  himself  acting  that  of  Friar 
Tuck,  and — chiefest  and  most  potent  argument — by 
promising  that  in  the  Flax  Piece  adjoining  The 
Butts  there  should  lie  concealed  in  a  hollow  oak  a 
four-and-a-half-gallon  cask  of  ale  for  the  actors' 
refreshment.  Unluckily  Robin  Hood  and  Little 
John  had  managed  to  broach  this  cask  early  in  the 
day  and  without  permission,  and  the  consequences 
were  obvious. 

Jack  Curtice  walked  Little  John  up  and  down 
the  green-room  while  one  of  the  bandsmen  threw 
water  at  intervals  into  the  young  swain's  face. 
Another  bandsman  had  given  up  Robin  Hood  as 
hopeless,  and  rolled  him  into  a  corner. 

"  We  med  as  well  leave  en  in  the  earner  till  he 
comes  to,"  he  said  ;  "he  wun't  do  no  Robin  Hoodin' 
to-day." 

And  eventually  Little  John  went  to  share  his 
corner,  and  for  want  of  the  two  principal  actors  the 
play  was  declared  off. 

Time  would  fail  me  to  tell  of  the  day's  catas- 
trophes— of  the  ox,  brought  to  draw  the  maypole  to 
its  place,  which  tried  to  gore  Tommy  Sandford, 
and  did  indeed  ruin  his  best  jacket,  which  Jim  had 
to  pay  for  ;  of  the  tale  of  ducks  and  hens  and  a  pig 
or  two  which  fell  to  the  bows  and  arrows  of  marks- 
men who  were  not  satisfied  with  their  legitimate 
target ;  and  of  half  a  dozen  other  items  not  in  the 


68  MAY 

programme  as  arranged  by  the  promoters  of  the 
festival.  The  long  day  drew  to  its  close  at  last, 
and  I  am  certain  that  no  one  was  more  relieved 
than  the  Vicar  wThen  at  last  the  strident  concertina 
and  the  uncertain  fiddle  ceased  their  sound,  and 
lights  went  out  round  the  green,  and  the  village 
slept.  To-day  we  may  discourse  him  of  any  subject 
in  the  wide  world  except  revels— 

"  Crede  experto — trust  one  who  has  tried." 
He  is  an  ill  subject  when  roused. 


TOMMY   SANDFORD 


May  14.  There  is  nothing  in  gardening  that  so 
much  demands  the  eye  and  hand  of  the  expert  as 
the  weeding  of  borders.  I  have  a  fair  number  of 
friends  to  whom  I  could  quite  happily  trust  my 
children,  if  I  had  any,  and  perhaps  two  or  three  to 
whom  I  could  commit  my  dogs  ;  but  I  cannot  at  this 
moment  call  to  mind  more  than  one  whom  I  could 
without  anxiety  turn  into  my  borders  to  weed  them. 
Carelessness  is  the  unpardonable  sin  surely,  because 
it  is  the  one  that  is  absolutely  curable  through  an 
effort  of  will.  But  it  is  not  only  through  careless- 
ness that  ruth  is  done  in  the  flower  garden  ;  there 
are  many  little  plants  known  only  to  the  planter 


MAY  69 

which  are  not  sufficiently  self-assertive  to  give  the 
appearance  of  being  entitled  to  their  position,  and 
because  they  are  timid  and  small  they  are  plucked 
up  and  cast  away  as  worthless. 

Early  in  May  the  thinning  of  annuals  should  be 
seen  to,  if  it  has  not  been  done  before,  for  nothing 
in  flowers  has  so  short  a  stay  as  the  bed  of  annuals 
which  suffers  from  overcrowding.  Many  things 
grown  under  glass  can  now  be  hardened,  but  this 


DUCKS  AND  .'HENS,  AND  A  PIG  OR  TWCK 

is  a  process  which  should  be  undertaken  with  some 
circumspection.  To  thrust  boxes  of  petunias  out 
suddenly  into  the  external  elements  is  a  certain 
check  to  their  career,  and  the  hardening  should  be 
accomplished  by  slow  degrees,  first  in  a  cold  frame, 
closed  at  night,  and  afterwards  through  various 
stages  of  semi-protection  culminating  towards  the 
end  of  the  month  in  complete  exposure.  The  time 
for  planting  them  out  cannot  be  determined  except 
by  experience.  There  may  come  a  series  of  warm, 


70  MAY 

moist  days  at  the  end  of  May  when  the  conditions 
are  admirable  for  the  purpose,  or  it  may  be  nearly 
the  middle  of  June  before  such  a  time  appears. 
But  the  planting  should  be  regulated  by  the 
weather,  for  nothing  is  more  heartbreaking  than 
to  see  withering  under  a  hot  sun  the  tender  things 
which  should  have  been  introduced  to  their  new 
quarters  in  more  favouring  circumstances.  There 
are  very  few  years  in  which  the  weather  is  not  suit- 
able at  some  time  between  May  24th  and  June 
1 5th,  and  the  wise  gardener  gets  everything  in 
readiness  for  the  welcome  rainy  days,  be  they 
early  or  be  they  late,  so  that  there  shall  be  no 
hindrance  when  once  Jupiter  Pluvius  has  his  turn 
at  the  weather-glass. 

The  roses  will  be  getting  liquid  manure  now  for 
a  few  weeks,  and  this  will  not  only  help  the  buds  at 
present  forming,  but  will  give  the  bushes  strength 
to  carry  an  autumn  bloom.  The  worm  in  the  bud 
is  beginning  to  show  itself,  and  for  some  time  to 
come  every  plant  will  be  hand-picked  twice  a  week 
to  get  rid  of  the  pest.  I  have  not  yet  found  any 
wash  which  will  destroy  them,  but  as  regards  the 
aphis,  which  also  is  appearing,  the  case  is  different. 
There  are  plenty  of  insecticides  which  will  kill  it, 
but  I  make  a  point  of  using  Abol,  because  I  feel 
myself  under  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  man  who 
invented  the  Abol  syringe.  Every  gardener  has 
been  betrayed  many  a  time  into  expressions  not 
becoming  by  the  behaviour  of  the  common  syringe. 
It  sprays  everything  except  the  object  aimed  at; 
it  indulges  in  a  back  drip  destructive  of  garments  ; 
it  exhausts  itself  of  water  in  about  three  seconds, 


MAY  71 

and  the  rose  bushes  have  had  practically  none  of  it. 
But  the  Abol  syringe  knows  how  to  behave  itself; 
it  never  comes  back  and  looks  you  in  the  face  and 
drenches  you  ;  it  goes  direct  to  the  object  aimed  at ; 
and  above  all  it  requires  filling  about  one  quarter  as 
often  as  any  other  syringe  which  I  have  used.  For 
by  some  clever  contrivance  the  spray  diffuses  itself 
so  gradually  and  so  finely  that  nothing  can  escape 
it,  and  destruction  comes  upon  the  intruding  insect 
whose  undesired  presence  has  threatened  a  dearth 
of  roses. 

Christmas  roses  in  pots  are  being  divided  and 
replanted,  as  they  had  grown  too  much  choked  for 
good  blooming,  and  arum  lilies  are  being  set  out  in 
manure  trenches  for  the  summer.  There  are  many 
persons  who  succeed  in  getting  good  results  from 
these  callas  by  keeping  them  in  pots,  and  only 
aiding  them  in  the  autumn  with  manure  water. 
But  the  planting- out  system  is  less  troublesome, 
and  in  my  experience  more  successful,  though  the 
flowers  come  a  little  later.  They  are  taken  up  in 
September,  and  kept  close  for  a  few  days  in  a  frame 
until  they  have  recovered  the  change,  and  then  they 
go  on  merrily  to  their  flowering  season,  making  a 
whole  winter  beautiful. 

How  glorious  are  the  yellow  tree  lupins  in  the 
wild  garden !  They  are  not  unsuited  to  large 
borders,  but  I  like  them  best  in  the  grass,  because 
they  look  as  if  they  belong  there  of  right.  Yet 
their  lease  of  life  is  sadly  short,  for  I  have  not 
known  one  to  live  longer  than  five  or  six  years. 
I  should  like  to  know  whether  in  California,  whence 
they  have  come  to  us,  their  life  is  so  brief,  or 


72  MAY 

whether  the  conditions  they  meet  with  under  cul- 
ture, the  richness  of  the  ground  they  inhabit,  and 
the  general  care  they  receive,  lead  to  the  too  pro- 
fuse bearing  of  blossom  and  of  seed  pod,  which 
seems  to  weaken  and  in  time  to  destroy  them.  It 
is  certainly  not  a  hard  winter  which  kills  them,  for 
they  may  survive  three  or  four  such  winters  to 
waste  away  in  a  mild  one.  But  however  disappoint- 
ing they  may  be  in  this  respect  they  are  of  the 
things  which  no  keen  gardener  can  dispense  with, 
and  as  they  are  fairly  easy  raised  from  seed,  and  as 
a  plant  in  its  second  year  may  range  in  height  from 
two  to  four  or  even  more  feet,  and  be  covered  with 
masses  of  its  glorious  bean-scented  flowers,  there  is 
no  difficulty  in  keeping  up  the  supply  by  means  of  an 
annual  sowing.  They  like  a  light  soil  and  a  sunny 
position  and  a  stake  to  keep  them  steady  when 
rough  winds  blow. 

Some  of  the  plants  which  look  most  promising  in 
the  wild  garden  are  the  scarlet  avens,  or  geum, 
the  Nankeen  poppy,  the  common  yellow  potentilla, 
and  the  old-fashioned  columbine.  Various  dian- 
thuses,  such  as  that  called  deltoides,  and  the 
pheasant-eye  pink  are  doing  admirably  and  have 
much  promise  of  blossom.  Irises  raised  from  seed 
are  coming  up  well,  but  they  do  not  thrive  in  the 
grass  as  I  should  like  to  see  them,  judging  by  their 
sparse  bloom.  The  oriental  poppies  are  showing 
great  swelling  buds.  It  strikes  me  ever  anew  that 
the  ideal  gardening  is  wild  gardening,  when  it  can 
be  managed  after  Nature's  patterns,  and  the  little 
bit  of  it  that  I  can  delight  in  is  a  happier  thing 
than  any  patches  of  florists'  flowers  that  make 


MAY  73 

my  borders  gay.  Perhaps  this  is  because  in  wild 
gardening  the  gardener  has  necessarily  to  be  simple. 
He  who  would  plant  carefully  hybridised  things  in 
the  grass  and  expect  to  see  them  thrive  would  be 
a  foolish  person  ;  so  type  flowers  are  chosen  which 
cannot  revert  to  any  lower  stage  of  existence  be- 
cause they  are  still  as  Nature  made  them,  and  the 
result  is  as  though  she  herself  had  planted  them, 
exotics  though  they  may  be. 

One  of  our  most  noxious  weeds  in  the  eyes  of 
Sterculus    is    very    useful    for    grouping    with    cut 


WHITE   WEED    IN    A   GROVE 


flowers.  This  is  the  common  white  weed,  or  sheep's 
parsley.  Its  foliage  mingles  well  with  garden 
blossoms,  and  its  great  heads  of  tiny  flowers  are 
very  effective  later  in  vases  in  combination  with 
such  large  blooms  as  those  of  the  oriental  poppy, 
the  paeony,  and  pyrethrum.  Another  flower  ex- 
cellent for  the  purpose  is  the  bulbous  saxifrage, 
which  is  plentiful  hereabouts,  and  is  nearly  as 
pretty  as  its  diminutive  relative  the  London  pride. 
Other  plants  which  grow  wild  in  the  orchard  are 
the  water  avens,  the  adder's-tongue  fern,  the  twae- 


74  MAY 

blade,  various  common  orchids,  cuckoo  flowers,  and 
ox-eyed  daisies.  Nature  set  them  all  in  this  little 
corner. 

The  most  brilliant  flowers  in  the  garden  are  still 
bulbs  —  the  flaunting  parrot  tulips ;  and  mingled 
with  them  are  multitudes  of  poet's  narcissus,  which 
are  quite  as  beautiful,  though  .not  so  gay.  Some 
of  these  last  are  also  growing  thinly  in  the  grass 
with  cowslips  between,  and  here  and  there  a  white' 
wood  hyacinth  ;  the  harmony  of  tender  tints  is  very 
pleasant  among  the  cool  green.  But  the  place  that 
best  suits  the  cowslips  is  the  moist  ground  of  the 
lowest  bed  in  the  rose  garden,  where,  plentifully 
nourished  and  kept  cool  and  slightly  shaded  by 
standard  trees,  they  grow  very  large  and  brighter 
in  tint  than  elsewhere,  the  green  calyx  being 
especially  vivid. 

May  20.  At  the  end  of  the  month,  when  the 
wallflowers  are  cleared  away  from  the  sheltered 
beds  beneath  the  windows  of  the  house,  portulaca 
is  sown  all  along  the  edge  in  a  wide  border,  and 
such  things  as  will  thrive  in  so  dry  a  place  are 
planted  behind  it.  It  is  an  undesirable  arrange- 
ment, ugly  and  displeasing,  because  it  is  always 
artificial  in  appearance.  The  flowers  complain  in 
unmistakable  flower  language  that  they  have  been 
bedded  out  for  the  summer  in  a  place  where  no 
others  will  thrive,  instead  of  being  provided  with 
quarters  where  they  may  live  in  peace  and  die 
when  old  age  comes  to  them.  There  is  no  getting 
away  from  the  fact  that  they  have  not  any  abiding 
place,  so  there  is  little  pleasure  to  be  gained  from 
them,  but  only  the  conventional  covering  of  a  border 
which  would  otherwise  be  bare. 


MAY  75 

The  lily  disease  has  attacked  most  of  the 
Madonna  lilies  again  this  year.  I  see  that  certain 
authorities  who  have  studied  the  disease,  which 
they  call  Botrytis  cinerea,  say  that  it  is  caused 
by  a  fungus  closely  related  to  that  of  the  potato 
disease.  The  large  spores  produce  other  spores 
with  hair-like  tails,  which  can  sail  about  in  water. 
No  remedy  is  known  for  the  plague,  and  the  only 
thing  to  be  done  when  a  plant  is  affected  is  to 
cut  the  stem  down  and  burn  it,  to  prevent  con- 
tamination to  others.  I  believe  that  if  the  bulbs 
are  taken  up  when  they  are  ripe  and  kept  in  a 
bag  with  flour  of  sulphur  for  a  little  time  before 
replanting,  they  will  be  likely  to  resist  the  disease 
the  following  year.  It  has  been  stated  that  this 
disease  attacks  only  those  lilies  which  have  been 
imported  ;  certainly  it  is  the  case  that  a  few  of  mine 
which  came  some  years  since  from  a  cottage  garden 
have  never  suffered  from  it,  while  others  bought 
from  various  salesmen  have  been  struck  down  year 
after  year,  and  never  seem  safe. 

One  of  the  last  duties  of  the  month  is  the 
arranging  of  hanging  baskets  for  the  sheltered 
entrance  to  the  house  which  is  always  dignified 
by  the  name  of  verandah.  Departure  from  con- 
ventional arrangements  for  these  is  not  desirable  ; 
I  have  tried  many  and  have  failed  in  every  one. 
And,  after  all,  there  is  nothing  more  suitable  for 
these  baskets  than  the  common  pelargonium  with 
hanging  sprays  of  blue  lobelia,  or  tendrils  of  ivy 
pelargoniums.  These  things  are  in  their  right 
position  for  the  summer  season  when  they  are  used 
to  fill  tubs  and  baskets,  where  they  never  look  out 


76  MAY 

of  place,  because  they  are  well  suited  to  their 
abode.  They  last  even  throughout  the  autumn,  and 
are  always  gay,  provided  that  they  are  regularly 
watered,  for  the  soil  is  necessarily  limited,  and  daily 
attention  is  needed. 

May  28.  This  is  the  first  day  of  summer.  One 
might  almost  say  that  it  is  the  first  day  of  spring, 
for  that  warm  week  in  April  is  so  long  past  that 
it  hardly  counts  in  one's  memory  of  pleasant  days. 
The  sparrows,  those  most  unprincipled  of  jerry- 


TUBS    AND    HANGING    BASKETS 


builders,  are  making  new  nests,  and  in  one  or 
two  instances  are  taking  forcible  possession  of  the 
swallows'  tenements.  Possibly  they  have  suffered 
from  the  rains  in  their  early  abodes.  For  the  cold, 
wet  spring  I  am  grateful,  since  in  this  garden  we 
are  apt  to  suffer  from  drought.  We  are  over- 
drained  by  Nature,  which  has  set  us  on  a  southern 
slope,  and  by  necessity,  which  has  demanded  a 
certain  amount  of  terracing  to  allow  of  a  croquet 
ground. 


MAY  77 

It  is  a  good  year  for  grass ;  the  rains  have 
assured  that.  From  the  seat  under  the  upper  elm 
one  may  see  how  luxuriantly  it  grows  just  below. 
The  poet's  narcissus  can  only  just  look  over  the 
feathery  tops,  and  a  scarlet  oriental  poppy  blossom 
has  but  a  trifle  more  advantage.  It  is  one  of  last 
year's  seedlings,  and  is  the  first  in  bloom  in  the 
garden  this  year.  I  am  anxious  to  see  if  they 


AN    INTRUDER 


will  hold  their  own  permanently  among  the  grass. 
I  am  feeling  a  little  sorry  that  I  planted  such  a 
large  mass  of  the  old  yellow  doronicum  in  the  wild 
garden,  for  now  that  the  buttercups  are  in  flower 
it  is  not  very  telling  ;  but  it  was  too  encroaching 
to  be  left  in  the  borders,  and  a  place  elsewhere  had 
to  be  found  for  it.  D.  Harpur  Crewe  is  better  for 
cutting,  and  in  habit  is  more  satisfactory,  but  it  also 
is  in  the  wild  garden  on  account  of  its  early  habit. 


;8  MAY 

The  summer  borders  are  quite  a  fortnight  later 
than  they  should  be.  There  is  very  little  show  at 
present — nothing,  in  fact,  beyond  the  parrot  tulips 
and  one  or  two  herbaceous  things  such  as  the  rosy 
pyrethrums,  geum  miniatum^  which  seems  to  be 
earlier  than  G.  chiloense,  and  the  pretty  little 


THE  JERRY-BUILDER 


carpet  plant  which  we  call  Bouncing  Bet,  though 
properly  speaking  it  is  saponaria  ocymoides.  Many 
things  are  ready  to  burst  into  flower,  but  are  coy 
through  persistent  night  frosts. 

The  first  sweet  peas  are  in  bloom  to-day — a  fort- 
night before  their  time  by  a  happy  accident.  In  the 
early  winter  we  found  that  a  goodly  number  of  seeds 


MAY  79 

which  had  been  taken  in  for  drying  had  sown  them- 
selves and  made  an  inch  or  two  of  growth  under 
the  greenhouse  stage.  So  we  potted  them,  and 
kept  them  in  a  cold  frame,  until  a  period  of  warm 
weather  in  early  April  made  it  possible  to  turn  them 
into  the  open  ground,  and  they  are  now  rewarding 
us  for  our  care  by  giving  their  sweet  blossoms  before 
we  have  any  right  to  expect  them. 

Somebody  said  the  other  day  that  life  is  made  up 
half  of  boredom  and  half  of  unpleasant  surprises. 
Nevertheless,  I  am  having  several  pleasant  sur- 
prises in  my  borders  this  spring.  Part  of  my 
business  is  to  keep  these  borders  weeded,  but  as 
they  require  attention  in  this  respect  several  times 
in  the  early  spring,  I  am  obliged,  though  it  is 
against  my  principles,  occasionally  to  depute  this 
duty  to  Thomas,  with  strict  injunctions  to  pluck  up 
nothing;  that  he  could  have  a  doubt  about.  Evi- 

o 

dently  the  garden  boy  is  not  troubled  with  doubts,  for 
in  ensuing  summers  I  have  grieved  over  my  losses, 
though  attributing  them  to  the  rigours  of  the  pre- 
ceding winter.  This  spring,  however,  I  have  done 
all  my  weeding  myself,  and  am  surprised  to  come 
upon  friends  that  I  had  given  up  for  lost.  Here  is 
a  romneya  coulteri  planted  three  years  ago.  It  did 
not  bloom  in  its  first  summer,  and  its  head  was 
doubtless  plucked  off  as  a  weed  for  two  good 
springs,  for  my  eyes  have  not  beheld  it  for  that 
period.  There  are  also  two  or  three  statices  in 
places  where  statices  are  not  used  to  be  ;  their  early 
growth  might  certainly  be  mistaken  for  that  of  the 
dock,  so  the  garden  boy  is  held  partly  excused  as 
regards  them.  The  same  might  be  said  for  the 


So  MAY 

beautiful  dwarf  white  evening  primrose  (osnothera 
taraxacifoiia),  whose  dandelion-like  foliage  ensures 
its  being  pulled  away  in  mistaken  kindness  even  by 
passing  friends,  so  that  out  of  my  original  large 
stock  raised  from  seed  I  now  possess  only  a  few 
plants.  The  thistle-like  morina,  for  this  same 
reason,  has  never  lived  through  a  summer  in  my 
garden,  though  I  have  planted  several  specimens 
at  different  times.  I  shall  have  to  put  a  neat  little 
paling,  made  of  wooden  labels,  round  these  plants, 
with  the  inscription,  "Trespassers  will  be  prose- 
cuted " ;  but  even  then  I  should  despair  of  Thomas's 
amendment.  A  garden  boy  who,  when  you  point 
to  a  handful  of  cherished  plants  withering  on  the 
grass,  can  do  naught  but  laugh  at  the  good  joke  is 
obviously  beyond  reformation. 

I  wonder  if  people  in  general  notice  how  inferior 
is  the  song  of  some  nightingales  to  that  of  others. 
The  principal  bird  who  inhabits  our  grove  this 
spring  is  a  very  poor  singer.  When  he  attempts 
the  delightful  jug-jug  he  makes  a  sorry  failure  of 
it,  and  even  his  common  notes  are  as  naught  in 
comparison  with  those  of  last  year's  birds.  The 
cold  weather  may  possibly  have  something  to  do 
with  it,  but  I  do  not  think  so,  for  we  have  now  had 
four  hot  days  and  nights,  and  still  his  note  is  a 
feeble  travesty  of  the  song  of  other  days.  In  spite 
of  a  month  of  cool,  wet  weather  these  four  days 
make  the  garden  cry  out  again  for  rain.  I  wonder 
if  anything  is  due  to  the  original  making  of  the 
borders  some  years  since  ;  and  yet  how  hard  we 
worked  to  get  them  right !  We  dug  out  their 
whole  length  to  a  depth  of  over  two  feet ;  the 


MAY  8 1 

substratum  of  gravel  which  we  came  upon  at  one 
point  was  removed,  and  good  soil  substituted  for  it. 
The  clay  substratum  (nowhere  within  eighteen 
inches  of  the  surface)  in  another  place  we  tempered 
with  lighter  stuff.  No  pains  were  spared  at  the 
beginning  so  far  as  our  knowledge  served.  I  cannot 
help  believing  that  we  did  the  best  that  could  be 


THE   NIGHTINGALE 


done,  and  that  the  contour  of  the  ground  is  more  to 
be  blamed  than  we.  One  pays  penalties  after  all 
for  "laying  warm,"  as  Sterculus  puts  it,  and  having 
a  natural  drainage. 

A  quantity  of  Dobbie's  white  spiral  candytuft, 
sown  almost  at  random  a  year  ago  in  odd  corners 
of  the  borders,  failed  to  germinate  in  last  summer's 
drought,  and  has  now  come  up  and  is  bursting  into 
beautiful  bloom.  It  is  wonderful  how  much  hand- 


82  MAY 

somer  it  is  than  spring-sown  stuff.  Clarkia  and 
godetia  under  similar  conditions  are  also  doing  well. 
Viola  cormita  in  two  or  three  shades — a  flower 
which,  as  a  carpet  plant  properly  placed  under 
things  of  upright  growth,  I  regard  as  one  of  the 
prettiest  in  the  garden — is  looking  charming,  as  it 
always  does  at  this  time.  Early  in  July,  when  it 
gets  a  little  shabby,  we  shall  clip  it  over,  and  it  will 
bloom  again  in  the  autumn.  Nearly  all  the  tufts 
were  killed  by  the  heat  last  summer,  but  it  is  a 
thing  impossible  to  get  rid  of,  and  it  is  rapidly 
forming  new  masses  from  self-sown  seed.  These 
young  plants  should  bloom  in  September  or  even 
sooner. 

I  have  a  friend  called  Petunia  who  lives  not 
very  far  away,  and  comes  often  to  see  me.  She 
is  young  and  pretty  and  altogether  charming, 

but Well,     I    have    noticed    that    a    "but" 

generally  appears  in  a  woman's  description  of  her 
best  friends,  and  there  is  no  need  to  particularise. 
The  "  but  "  in  Petunia's  case  is  not  entirely  irrelevant 
to  her  method  of  mismanaging  her  love  affairs, 
which  she  seems  to  have  accomplished  of  late  with 
complete  success.  Yet  while  willing  and  even 
anxious  to  seek  sympathy,  she  deprecates  the 
smallest  approach  to  advice  from  her  confidants, 
of  whom  she  has  more  than  one  or  two.  More- 
over, as  she  never  succeeds  in  expressing  her 
position  very  clearly,  always  keeping  in  reserve 
some  fact  which  might  damage  her  in  the  opinion 
of  her  listener,  it  is  sometimes  a  little  difficult  to 
follow  her  story  and  to  share  her  point  of  view.  It 
seems  as  if  she  has  not  strength  to  carry  alone  the 


PETUNIA 


MAY  85 

burden  which  she  is  yet  too  coy  or  too  unwilling  to 
share  with  another. 

Petunia  has  bicycled  over  again  to-day,  the  second 
time  within  the  week,  and  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
she  is  brimming  with  the  desire  to  tell  me  some- 
thing. The  only  way  to  meet  her  is  with  a  com- 
plete absence  of  inquisitiveness,  which  is  the  most 
trying  and  embarrassing  to  her  of  all  the  various 
fronts  which  one  can  present.  How  happy  she  is 
if  her  friend  and  confidant  of  the  moment  will  says 
"  Petunia,  darling,  tell  me  what  is  on  your  mind  "  ; 
or,  "  Dear  Petunia,  you  are  looking  a  little  unhappy 
to-day ! "  But  no  one  who  really  knew  Petunia 
would  be  foolish  enough  to  adopt  such  elementary 
tactics  as  these,  which  lead  to  much  circumlocution 
on  her  part,  and  not  a  little  self-pity.  So  we  talk 
indifferently  about  apple  blossom,  or  about  the 
effect  of  late  spring  frost  on  the  strawberries,  and 
we  discuss  the  respective  demerits  of  the  brown  and 
the  black  slug.  And  all  the  time  I  know  that  I 
shall  presently  yield  to  her  mood  out  of  sheer  good 
nature,  and  shall  hear  myself  saying,  "Petunia, 
darling,  tell  me  what  is  troubling  you." 

She  ate  a  very  good  luncheon,  looking  the  picture 
of  misery  throughout  the  meal.  Afterwards  she 
indulged  in  a  larger  quantity  than  usual  of  pepper- 
mint creams,  only  holding  her  hand  when  I  re- 
marked that  I  considered  peppermint  exhilarating. 
Then  she  asked  what  was  the  most  remarkable 
instance  of  patient  silent  agony  that  had  ever  come 
under  my  notice.  I  assured  her  that  nothing  of  the 
kind  had  ever  struck  me  more  forcibly  than  the  sight 
of  a  lean  countryman  whom  I  had  seen  one  even- 


86 


MAY 


ing  at  the  close  of  the  fortnightly  sheep  fair  in  the 
neighbouring  village  of  Ilsley.     The  day  was  done, 


A   LEAN   COUNTRYMAN 


the  customers  were  departing,  and  his  sheep  were 
unsold.  She  said  dreamily  that  she  was  not  think- 
ing about  sheep,  and  then  she  quoted  Longfellow — 


SHE   SAID   IT  WAS   TIME  TO  GO 


MAY  87 

Petunia's  poetical  taste  is  not  of  the  highest  order— 
and  remembered  to  sigh  at  the  right  moment.  She 
said  she  thought  the  "  Psalm  of  Life "  the  truest 
picture  ever  painted  of  a  woman's  heart.  She  said 
she  was  convinced  that  the  sublimest  thing  in  the 
world  was  suffering  and  being  strong.  I  cordially 
agreed  with  her,  and  instanced  my  persistent 
romneya  coulteri.  She  remarked  sadly  that  a 
woman's  heart  was  of  more  value  than  any  romneya 
coidteri.  I  replied  that  something  might  depend 
upon  the  state  of  the  heart.  She  said  she  supposed 
it  was  time  to  go,  and  then  she  sat  down  again,  and 
I  knew  that  neither  jest  nor  insult  would  dislodge 
her  until  she  had  unburdened  herself;  so  I  made 
haste  to  say  once  more  the  words  I  have  so  often 
repeated  in  these  last  months,  "  Petunia,  dearest, 
tell  me  what  is  troubling  you." 

Of  course,  I  knew  very  well  what  was  troubling 
her.  I  could  not  be  certain  of  its  name,  for  this  is 
subject  to  chances  and  changes,  but  I  can  always 
sketch  in  as  a  preliminary  the  bare  facts  and  out- 
line of  the  story.  Although  there  may  be  bore- 
dom for  me,  there  will  be  no  surprises  in  Petunia's 
narrative. 

It  appears  that  her  Mr.  Mumby  of  the  moment, 
whom  she  has  adored  for  over  three  weeks,  went 
away  yesterday  without  telling  his  love.  I  do  not 
quite  grasp  whether  this  is  the  original  Mr.  Mumby, 
or  another  Mr.  Mumby,  or  yet  again  a  different 
person  with  Mumby-like  charms,  but  the  name  in 
any  case  will  serve  as  a  generic  term,  though  if 
I  had  been  Petunia  I  should  have  chosen  a  better 
while  I  was  about  it.  I  do  not  like  to  inquire  too 


88  MAY 

closely  into  the  situation,  for  sometimes  when  she  is 
telling  me  about  one  of  her  Mr.  Mumbys  I  am 
thinking  of  polyanthuses,  or  of  rose  grubs,  or  of 
some  other  more  interesting  subject,  and  it  does  not 
do  to  hark  back,  for  this  infuriates  Petunia.  Not  to 
listen  attentively  to  her  tales  of  woe  is  a  thing 
almost  unpardonable,  but  to  forget  the  smallest 
detail  of  them  is  an  insult.  So  I  listen  and 
sympathise  and  refrain  from  coming  to  close 
quarters  in  the  matter,  and  I  hear  a  pathetic  tale 
of  love  and  anguish.  It  is  exactly  the  same  narra- 
tive that  she  told  me  some  few  months  ago  with 
the  immaterial  difference  of  a  substitution  of  one 
principal  character  in  the  drama  for  another.  But 
Petunia  does  not  detect  the  resemblance.  She 
goes  home  at  last  with  a  huge  bunch  of  china 
roses,  and  with  a  face  as  long  as  her  arm,  which 

o 

is  saying  much,  and  I  am  able  to  turn  again  with 
a  sigh  of  relief  to  my  garden  and  my  books. 

I  have  just  been  enjoying  that  poem  of  perennial 
interest  and  delightful  humour,  "Caliban  upon 
Setebos,"  which,  every  time  I  read  it,  gives  me 
fresh  pleasure  and  new  suggestions  for  its  complete 
appreciation.  Setebos  is  the  evil  genius  of  gardens. 
He  has  all  the  attributes  for  the  part,  and  it  is 
surprising  that  Caliban  did  not  discover  this  ;  but 
probably  he  did  not  only  because  he  could  not  be 
trusted  to  work  in  Miranda's  garden.  If  he  had 
been  permitted  to  do  so  he  would  have  discovered 
another  side  to  the  malignity  of  Setebos  to  confide 
to  us.  Poor  Caliban !  He  takes  half  a  winter  to 
weave  a  wattle  fence  which  will  stop  the  she-tor- 
toises as  they  crawl  up  the  sand,  and  let  him  secure 


MAY  89 

their  eggs  for  his  feast,  v  The  sea  gets  up  under 
a  kick  from  Setebos,  and 

"...  licks  the  whole  labour  flat." 

He  takes  pattern  from  his  tormentor ;  he  sees 
twenty  crabs  pass  safely  to  the  sea,  and  stones  the 
twenty-first.  So  Setebos !  He  sees  a  bruised  one 
and  gives  it  waywardly  a  worm  ;  one  whose  nippers 
end  in  red,  and  gives  it  two  worms.  So  he !  The 
caprice  of  the  little  god  is  repeated  in  the  mere 
mortal,  who  visits  on  those  weaker  than  himself 
the  indignities  which  he  has  first  suffered.  Our 
Setebos  of  the  garden  vexes  us  fully  as  much  as 
Caliban's  of  the  island  vexed  him— 

"When  all  goes  right,  in  this  safe  summer  time, 
And  he  wants  little,  hungers,  aches  not  much, 
Then,  trying  what  to  do  with  wit  and  strength, 
Falls  to  make  something." 

Our  Setebos  is  ingenious.  He  makes  a  beautiful 
plant  and  sets  it  in  the  border.  The  gardener  sees 
it  and  knows  it  for  a  stranger,  and  looks  for  blossom, 
thinking  that  he  has  planted  it  in  the  autumn  and 
forgotten  to  note  it  in  his  book.  It  thrives  as  no 
other  plant  in  the  garden  has  thriven  ;  in  a  single 
season  it  has  increased  from  a  tiny  leaflet  to  a  large 
clump.  It  is  above  everything  a  "good  doer." 
Late  in  summer,  after  much  cherishing,  it  blossoms, 
and  proves  to  be  a  spurge  or  a  yarrow  of  the 
meanest  sort.  So  Setebos  ! 

He  is  malignant.  He  waits  until  the  delphiniums 
are  safely  above  ground,  and  then  he  teases  the 
large  black  slugs  and  the  small  brown  slugs,  till 
they  leave  the  herbage  of  the  orchard,  which  in 
reality  they  like  better  than  anything  else,  and 


90  MAY 

make  a  meal  off  the  growing  tufts  in  the  borders. 
He  taunts  the  sparrows  till  they  nip  off  the  green 
tips  of  the  sweet  peas  just  coming  out  of  the 
ground,  and  leave  them  exposed  to  view,  for  they 
do  not  care  to  eat  them.  He  has  been  known  to 
incite  garden  boys  to  the  plucking  up  of  choice 
plants,  which  he  slily  insinuates  to  be  weeds  of 
loathly  sort.  He  incites  the  village  donkey  to 
bray  against  its  better  nature  ;  and,  when  we  have 
planted  out  our  seedlings  on  the  strength  of  the 
welcome  music,  we  see  them  fading  for  weeks 
under  the  brilliant  unwinking  sun,  which  kills  them 
before  they  can  get  established.  So  Setebos  ! 

Let  us  hope  with  Caliban  that  some  day  the 
Quiet  may  catch. and  destroy  Setebos,  or  that  like- 
lier he — 

"  Decrepit  may  doze,  doze,  as  good  as  die," 

for  we  shall  never  have  satisfactory  gardens  until 
this  happy  day  arrives. 


JUNE 

June  ^  I  ^HERE  are  a  good  many  small  items  of 
I5-  -L  work  which,  while  not  seeming  very 
important,  yet  require  attention  at  this  time  from 
the  far-seeing  gardener.  If  the  pansies  sown  and 
transplanted  last  autumn  are  to  continue  their 
flowering  season  throughout  the  summer,  they  must 
be  mulched  soon  with  old  manure ;  so  treated  they 
will  carry  blossoms  until  winter.  Lilacs  have  to 
be  pruned,  the  longest  shoots  which  have  bloomed 
being  cut  out  and  carried  away  to  the  rubbish  heap, 
whence,  in  the  form  of  ashes,  they  will  return  later 
to  the  land.  Phloxes  and  delphiniums  must  be 
staked,  although  at  present  they  do  not  seem  to 
require  it ;  cuttings  must  be  taken  of  pinks,  if  the 
wood  is  firm  enough,  and  struck  under  hand-lights 
in  good  soil ;  wallflowers  must  be  pricked  out  from 
the  seed-beds  into  larger  quarters,  where  they  can 
stand  several  inches  apart,  to  ensure  their  making 
good  plants  by  the  time  October  comes,  and  with 
October  their  final  planting.  The  strong  tap  roots 
should  be  pinched  off,  and  a  good  bunch  of  fibrous 
roots  will  take  their  place  and  make  them  more 
able  to  endure  winter  frosts.  The  green  tops  of 
bulbs  which  have  not  yet  died  down  may,  for  the 

91 


92  JUNE 

most  part,  be  removed,  even  though  they  are  still 
a  little  green  ;  and  the  rose-beds  in  which  they  are 
planted  should  be  forked  over  with  a  four-inch 
hand  fork,  an  operation  easily  undertaken  by  the 
garden  boy.  Air  and  dew  will  thus  enter  freely 
and  penetrate  the  soil. 

If  the  sowing  of  hardy  perennials  has  not 
hitherto  been  done,  this  month  is  not  too  late  to 
get  fairly  good  plants  from  seed,  provided  that 
watering  is  properly  attended  to.  There  are  few 
that  cannot  now  be  sown  in  the  open,  although 
some  kinds,  such  as  the  sea  hollies,  auriculas, 
and  others,  need  boxes,  because  their  period  of 
germination  is  long,  and  they  are  apt  to  be  for- 
gotten if  they  remain  unseen  in  the  earth  for  many 
months.  I  have  kept  a  few  late  things,  such  as  the 
Chinese  dianthus  and  spring-sown  snapdragons,  in 
four-inch  pots,  to  fill  gaps  in  the  borders  ;  and  now 
that  the  oriental  poppies  have  nearly  finished 
flowering  they  will  be  cut  down  level  with  the 
ground,  and  these  pot  plants  will  be  put  near  and 
around  the  roots.  Pyrethrums  may  be  treated  in 
the  same  way  as  the  poppies,  but  it  is  not  advisable 
to  behave  so  brutally  to  most  early-flowering  plants, 
for  some  of  the  weaker-growing  perennials  would 
resent  their  temporary  extinction,  and  would  prob- 
ably make  it  a  permanent  one. 

The  fancy  pelargoniums  are  getting  near  their 
time  of  rest,  and  must  soon  be  cut  back  and 
prepared  for  next  year's  flowering.  They  are 
reduced  to  the  hard  wood  ;  the  ball  is  also  made 
smaller,  and  the  plants  are  set  out  in  a  cool  frame 
in  clean  pots.  New  plants  are  raised  from  some  of 


JUNE 


93 


the  cuttings,  but  our  house  room  being  limited 
we  cannot  grow  a  large  number,  so  most  of  the 
stuff  goes  to  the  rubbish  heap. 


CLIMBING   ROSES 


Climbing  roses  are  making  the  house-front  gay 
just  now.  They  are  in  full  bloom — Lamarck, 
Gloire  de  Dijon,  Cheshunt  hybrid,  1' Ideal,  Bouquet 


94  JUNE 

d'or,  and  Reine  Marie  Henrietta.  The  last,  which 
is  among  the  most  useful  of  all,  should  be  grown 
on  a  comparatively  cool  wall,  such  as  one  with  an 
aspect  due  west.  Perpetual  sunburn  is  fatal  to  its 
colour  in  very  hot  weather,  and  the  ideal  place  for 
it  is  under  glass,  where,  in  spring,  it  comes  best  and 
brightest.  Cheshunt  hybrid  also,  though  perfect  in 
the  bud,  is  always  disappointing  when  fully  expanded, 
Bouquet  d'or  is  a  glorified  Gloire,  with  a  slightly 
yellower  flower  and  a  perfectly  formed  bud.  There 
are  one  or  two  early  Eugen  Fiirsts  in  the  rose-beds, 
for  these  are  the  pioneers  of  the  hybrid  perpetuals. 
I  am  always  telling  myself  how  sorry  I  am  that  I 
have  but  one  bed  of  chinas  ;  but  except  for  their 
long-flowering  habit  I  do  not  care  for  them,  my  first 
necessity  in  roses  being  those  which  will  live  longest 
in  water,  and  are  therefore  well  suited  for  cutting. 

The  borders  are  looking  gay,  though  not  yet  in 
full  beauty.  I  am  short  of  various  old  favourites 
this  year,  noticeably  Canterbury  bells,  linum  nar- 
bonnense,  which  appears  to  have  been  destroyed 
by  the  wet  winter,  and  gaillardias,  which  probably 
disliked  it  even  more  than  the  linum.  One  thing 
which  I  decide  every  autumn  to  banish  entirely 
from  the  borders  to  the  wild  garden,  and  cling  to 
devotedly  every  summer,  is  the  lovely  blue  alkanet 
(anchusa  italica).  It  is  quite  as  beautiful  in  colour 
as  any  delphinium,  and  far  more  persistent  in 
bloom.  It  is  now  in  full  glory,  and  I  feel  that  I 
would  rather  die  than  be  without  it.  In  August, 
when  it  is  lolling  over  two  or  three  yards  of  soil 
belonging  to  other  plants,  I  feel  that  not  I  but  it 
must  die,  or  be  banished  at  any  rate  to  the  grass, 


THE   BORDERS   ARE   LOOKING  GAY 


JUNE  95 

where  already  there  is  a  considerable  colony  of  it, 
for  it  does  admirably  amongst  the  herbage. 

One  thing  I  must  get  for  my  borders  before 
another  June,  and  that  is  a  judicious  selection  of 
plants  of  a  good  full  yellow  colour.  At  this 
moment  there  is  no  brilliant  yellow  in  them  except 
eschscholtzias  and  Iceland  poppies,  which  are  only 
annuals,  and  therefore  not  to  be  relied  on  after 
a  hard  winter.  The  Nankeen  poppy  is  very  lovely 
in  its  salmon-apricot  tint,  but  it  does  not  satisfy  the 
eye-craving  for  yellow.  My  first  and  chief  desire 
is  for  brilliant  gentian  blues  ;  pinks  and  crimsons 
are  essential,  and  come  without  effort,  as  does  also 
white  ;  violets  and  magentas  have  to  be  allowed 
only  sparingly  and  under  protest,  as  it  were  ;  true 
scarlets  and  real  coral  pinks  are  absolutely  neces- 
sary, and  deserve  encouragement.  But  a  real  good 
lemon  yellow  at  this  time  of  year  is  more  scarce 
than  a  true  blue,  and  is  quite  as  great  a  treasure, 
which  is  saying  much. 

For  a  June  edging  I  know  nothing  prettier  than 
the  pentstemon  procerus  at  the  back,  and  the  big 
white  rayless  viola,  or  tufted  pansy,  as  they  call  it 
nowadays,  widely  massed  in  front.  For  a  large 
round  bed,  with  coreopsis  grandiflora  all  over  the 
centre,  it  would  be  quite  suitable  ;  for,  although  the 
pentstemon  goes  out  of  bloom  by  the  end  of  the 
month,  the  violas  remain  and  look  beautifully 
harmonious  with  the  coreopsis  through  the  rest  of 
the  summer.  This  coreopsis  would  be  a  perfect 
plant  if  it  were  a  true  perennial.  It  is  very  free 
flowering,  most  persistent,  handsome,  and  useful  for 
cutting.  Sometimes  it  will  throw  out  side  growths 


96  JUNE 

which  ensure  its  blooming  the  following  year  ;  but 
more  often  it  has  only  the  life  of  a  biennial,  and 
disappears  after  flowering.  However,  it  is  easily 
raised  from  seed,  and  the  sowing  of  such  a  good 
thing  in  the  seed-patch  should  be  as  much  a  matter 
of  course  as  the  sowing  of  the  indispensable  wall- 
flower. I  find  here  that  it  distributes  itself  and 
forms  colonies  all  round  the  parent  plants,  which  is 
the  easiest  and  pleasantest  solution  of  the  problem 
of  its  culture.  Pentstemon  procerus,  like  many 
type  pentstemons,  cannot  endure  to  be  suffocated 
by  other  plants  at  any  period  of  its  growth.  The 
exquisite  P.  cyananthus  (var.  Brandegii)  is  just 
coming  into  full  bloom,  and  has  the  true  blue  colour 
so  valuable  in  gardens.  I  am  trying  P.  J off  ray  anus, 
which  is  well  spoken  of,  but  have  not  seen  it  in 
flower  yet.  I  find  that  most  pentstemons  take  a 
fairly  long  time  to  establish  themselves. 

What  a  perfect  flower  is  the  clematis  languinosa, 
Lady  Caroline  Nevill !  It  is  too  dwarf  for  a  wall, 
and  I  should  like  to  try  it  pegged  down  between 
plants  of  Mrs.  Sinkins  pinks.  I  think  that  for 
once  I  should  have  a  conventional  arrangement  of 
some  sort,  with  the  pinks  used  for  outlining,  and 
the  clematis  in  large  plots  for  filling  in.  Then 
planted  thickly  among  the  clematis  there  should  be 
quantities  of  tritonias,  which  would  follow  Lady 
Caroline  in  blooming,  the  foliage  of  the  pinks 
when  the  flowers  were  over  being  sufficiently 
beautiful  in  itself  to  hold  its  own  in  the  later 
picture.  I  find  tritonia  crocosmice flora  perfectly 
hardy,  but  T.  Pottsi  dies  in  a  v/inter  alternately 
cold  and  wet.  The  former  is  very  satisfactory  and 


JUNE  97 

increases  quickly ;  the  bulbs  also  are  cheap,  which 
is  an  additional  point  in  their  favour. 

The  yellow  tree  lupin  is  now  in  its  glory,  and 
a  beautiful  thing  it  is.  These  were  grown  from 
seed,  and  have  made  good  plants  in  a  couple 
of  years.  I  find  that  the  seed  should  be  sown 
plentifully,  for  some  of  it  fails  to  germinate.  Tree 
lupins  appear  to  flower  only  on  the  wood  of  the 
previous  year,  and  their  golden  wreaths  resemble 
laburnum  set  the  wrong  way  up  ;  but  they  are  at 
least  three  times  as  enduring  when  cut  as  that 
lovely  golden  chain.  I  have  seeds  of  a  new  white 
variety  this  season,  which  I  am  trying ;  it  cannot 
exceed  the  yellow  in  beauty,  but  there  is  room 
enough  in  gardens  for  more  than  one  good  thing. 

June  24.  How  hideous  is  the  country  on  a  sun- 
less day  in  June.  Here,  where  we  are  apt  to  look 
for  glorious  distances  and  wooded  vistas,  this  is 
particularly  noticeable.  In  place  of  spring's  variety 
of  tints  the  eye  travels  for  miles  over  a  mass  of 
dull  metallic  green,  devoid  both  of  charm  of  colour 
and  beauty  of  form.  The  trees  are  in  full  leaf,  and 
show  no  bright  interstices  ;  they  are  as  lumpy  as 
cabbages.  The  fields  in  their  flat  colouring  carry 
out  the  unpleasing  scheme,  for  the  young  corn  is 
still  as  green  as  the  water  meadows.  Next  month 
we  shall  at  least  get  relief  for  the  eye  in  the  ripen- 
ing grain,  and  by  August  we  may  hope  for  some 
variety  in  the  tree  foliage  again,  though  not  much. 
At  present  the  only  charm  is  in  the  help  which  the 
sun  gives  to  the  landscape,  with  its  strong  contrast 
of  light  and  shade  and  its  varying  cloud  shadows. 
On  a  grey  day  this  help  is  withheld,  and  all  is  flat 
monotony  of  metallic  green  again.  Luckily  the  one 

H 


98  JUNE 

month  which  is  ugly  outside  the  garden  is  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  within  it.  The  green  is  tempered 
with  other  tints;  the  trees  near  by  are  intimate 
friends,  and  we  know  what  lies  under  their  thick, 
plain  faces.  We  love  them  because  we  live  with 
them,  and  we  do  not  expect  them  always  to  wear 
their  prettiest  clothing  for  us.  But  with  other  dis- 
tant trees  which  are  strangers  to  us,  or  at  best  only 
casual  acquaintances,  we  feel  no  necessity  to  endure 
their  ugliness  with  patience,  and  we  naturally  resent 
it  when  we  can  find  no  delight  for  the  eye  in  them. 
The  aesthetic  craving  is  unsatisfied,  and  the  soul 
within  the  stranger  is  not  intimate  enough  with  our 
soul  to  react  upon  and  inspire  it. 

But  wherever  else  there  may  be  disappointment, 
there  is  always  something  to  charm  in  the  orchard. 
The  flowers,  even  at  this  season,  which  is  their  best, 
seem  scarce  and  stingily  distributed  compared  with 
those  in  the  beds,  but  is  it  not  this  which  gives 
them  that  look  of  Nature's  planting  which  can 
never  be  amiss  ?  What  surprises  me  most  is  the 
perennial  habit  which  the  Canterbury  bells  seem  to 
acquire  in  the  grass  ;  they  never  fail  to  reappear  in 
each  succeeding  summer,  though  they  receive  no 
attention  in  any  way  nor  encouragement,  such  as 
they  get  in  the  garden  proper.  Some  of  the  most 
satisfactory  and  attractive  colonies  in  the  grass  are 
formed  of  the  following  :— 


Sweet-william, 

Doronicum, 

Italian  alkanet, 

Blue  flax, 

Single  rocket, 

Pheasant-eye  pink, 

Single  yellow  potentilla, 


Perennial  lupin, 

Oriental  poppy, 

Comfrey, 

Columbine, 

Scarlet  avens, 

Foxglove, 

Borage. 


JUNE  99 

There  is,  besides,  a  beautiful  plant  whose  botani- 
cal name  is  crambe  cordifolia.  It  stands  from  three 
to  four  feet  in  height,  and  is  covered  with  clouds 
of  white  flowers  somewhat  resembling  the  bulbous 
saxifrage  in  shape  and  size.  It  will  hold  its  own 
in  the  grass  if  a  suitable  station  is  prepared  for  it. 

We  have  had  a  week  of  intense  and  airless 
heat  after  a  fortnight  of  windy  heat.  I  believe 
the  mysterious  instrument  called  a  hygrometer 
measures  more  moisture  in  the  air  than  it  did 


HAYMAKERS 


a  few  days  since,  but  it  is  still  hardly  beyond 
normal.  Yet  the  sound  of  trains  to  the  south  is 
very  distinct  ;  a  donkey  is  braying  in  the  village 
below  ;  smoke  is  blowing  down  from  the  chimneys 
on  to  the  lawn  ;  the  swallows  are  flying  lower ;  the 
moon  will  change  to-morrow — so  surely  we  are  to 
get  rain  at  last.  Things  are  beginning  to  show 
signs  of  distress  for  want  of  it,  and  peas  would 
really  begin  to  fatten  and  strawberries  to  swell  more 
quickly  if  we  could  get  half  an  inch  or  so.  But  it 
has  been  a  glorious  season  for  the  haymakers. 
June  28.  The  welcome  rain  has  come,  and  we 


ioo  JUNE 

are  rejoicing  in  it  in  terribly  selfish  fashion,  for 
are  there  not  many  acres  of  grass  still  lying  un- 
carried  and  almost  as  many  left  uncut  ?  I  pointed 
out  to  Sterculus  this  morning  that  our  joy  should 
be  chastened  by  this  remembrance,  but  he  was 
quite  unmoved  and  unsympathising.  "  We  cain't 
eat  hay,"  he  says,  as  he  hugs  himself  in  his  own 
peculiar  way  while  surveying  his  fat  pea-pods  and 
his  newly  planted  lettuces.  He  is  the  more  pleased 
because  he  prophesied  this  welcome  change  ;  but 
Sterculus's  habit  of  prophecy  leaves  room  for  so 
much  later  hedging  that  we  do  not  often  pay  great 
attention  to  it.  "  I  don't  say  'twill  rain  to-day,  and 
I  don't  say  'twill  rain  to-morrow  ;  what  I  say  is, 
'twill  rain,"  is  his  usual  formula,  and  even  we  lesser 
mortals  feel  that  we  could  sometimes  get  as  near 
prophecy  by  a  happy  accident. 

I  have  adopted  some  of  the  suggestions  con- 
tained in  Mr.  William  Robinson's  English  Flower 
Garden  with  very  happy  results — those,  I  mean, 
which  refer  to  the  growing  of  successional  groups 
of  flowers  in  the  borders.  A  patch  of  ground, 
for  instance,  which  in  early  summer  is  gay  with 
blue  forget-me-not  is  later  in  the  year  a  mass 
of  tritonia.  The  nodding  star  of  Bethlehem 
gives  place  at  this  time  to  the  white  creeping- 
evening  primrose,  which  blooms  for  the  rest  of 
the  summer.  Spanish  irises  come  up  and  flower 
in  a  glaucous-coloured  carpet  of  zauschneria  cali- 
fornica,  which  is  later  than  most  things  in  coming 
into  blossom.  Madonna  lilies  are  planted  with 
pyrethrums  or  with  oriental  poppies,  and  succeed 
them  with  only  a  few  days'  interval  between.  I 


JUNE 


greatly  dislike  bare  earth  between  niy  tfunVps',  ahd 
so  far  as  possible  dwarf  plants  are  encouraged  to 
grow  amongst  the  taller  ones,  to  the  vast  improve- 
ment of  the  border's  appearance.  One  makes 
mistakes  no  doubt  at  times,  and  the  carpet  is 
often  of  a  sort  that  will  smother  its  com- 
panions as  they  come  up  in  the  spring  ;  but 
experience  is  the  only  guide  worth  trusting,  and 
it  is  better  to  learn  for  oneself  that  saponaria 
ocymoides  will  not  suffer  antirrhinums  to  emerge 
safely  through  its  twiggy  growth  with  the  power 
of  doing  their  best  than  merely  to  read  this  in 
a  book  and  take  it  for  an  incontrovertible  fact. 
One  learns  a  great  deal  more  than  a  mere  little 
detail  about  gardening  from  every  mistake  which 
one  makes  in  the  growing  of  plants. 

I  am  an  occasional  reader  of  the  new  fiction  known 
by  the  name  of  Garden  Literature,  and  of  all  the 
books  of  this  kind  which  I  have  seen  I  like  best 
Elizabeth  and  her  German  Garden.  One  is  learn- 
ing that  it  is  idle  to  look  for  instruction  in  flower 
culture  in  these  books,  and  it  is  no  disappoint- 
ment to  discover  that  Elizabeth's  book  frankly 
concerns  Elizabeth  and  nothing  else.  Her  garden, 
though  it  appears  on  the  title-page  and  on  many 
another  page  of  the  volume,  is  obviously  incidental, 
and  even  the  Man  of  Wrath  partakes  of  this  nature 
as  well  as  the  April,  May,  and  June  babies.  One 
is  fain  to  realise  that  although  Elizabeth  may  be 
rather  fond  of  them,  she  could  very  well  reconcile 
herself  to  life  without  them.  She  is  profoundly 
interesting  to  herself  as  well  as  to  the  reader, 
and  her  volume  is  the  Book  of  Elizabeth  with 


.102  JUNE 


la*  German :  garden  and  a  few  other  necessary  im- 
pedimenta thrown  in.  Her  garden  experiences  are 
not  illuminating,  and  may  be  dismissed  in  a  few 
words,  for  there  is  little  of  a  horticultural  nature 
to  be  learnt  from  Elizabeth.  To  be  sure  we  hear 
much  of  sweet  peas,  rockets,  roses  bought  by  the 
hundred,  hollyhocks,  pansies,  and  other  subjects. 
But  never  a  word  does  she  tell  us  of  their  culture, 
and  for  aught  that  we  can  learn  from  her  we  might 
treat  all  these  things  alike,  and  suffer  accordingly. 
Elizabeth  would  never  check  us  in  our  foolish- 
ness, though  she  would  make  many  a  jest  at  it,  for 
nothing  is  sacred  from  her  ribaldry. 

Elizabeth  is  distinctly  a  minx.  I  thought  the 
character  was  extinct,  for  it  disappeared  from  our 
literature  quite  suddenly  about  the  time  that  the 
purpose-novel  came  into  vogue.  There  was  not 
room  enough  in  fiction  for  both  types  of  heroine. 
But  the  minx  was  not  extinct  ;  she  was  merely 
suffering  from  boredom,  and  had  gone  into  retire- 
ment for  a  time,  to  re-emerge  brilliantly  from  the 
recesses  of  a  German  garden.  And  the  absolute 
certainty  that  there  are  April,  May,  and  June 
minxes  being  brought  up  to  follow  in  her  chartered 
footsteps  may  relieve  us  from  any  fear  that  the  type 
will  be  lost  again. 

Elizabeth  is  English  to  the  backbone,  despite  her 
artful  attempts  to  persuade  us  otherwise.  She  is 
amusing  in  describing  her  adopted  compatriots,  and 
enjoys  many  a  laugh  at  their  expense.  She  is 
certain  that  Dr.  Grill  must  be  a  German  rose, 
because  the  more  attention  you  pay  him  the  ruder 
will  he  be  to  you,  or,  in  other  words,  the  less  will  he 


JUNE  103 

repay  your  kindness  by  expansion.  But  there  are 
very  few  things  and  fewer  persons  for  whom  Eliza- 
beth has  a  word  of  praise,  and  the  only  friend  whom 
she  can  endure  is  one  who  is  clever  enough  to 
flatter  her  about  her  garden.  To  others  she  is 

o 

inwardly  cold  and  critical,  with  a  charming  affecta- 
tion of  pleasantness  which  would  not  deceive  a 
baby.  She  dislikes  Minora  most  of  all,  and  is  only 
well  disposed  to  her  visitor  when  she  notices  her 
thick  wrists.  The  fact  is  that  Minora  has  a  beautiful 
nose ;  and  although  Elizabeth  would  rather  die 
than  own  herself  jealous,  it  is  obvious  to  the 
meanest  capacity  that  this  is  what  ails  her.  The 
admirable  Miss  Jones  also,  whose  perfect  propriety 
of  demeanour  is  assumed  through  a  rigid  sense  of 
duty,  rouses  all  her  wrath.  But  what  was  there,  in 
the  name  of  justice,  to  complain  of  in  Miss  Jones  ? 
That  she  had  but  small  respect  for  her  employer 
should  not  in  itself  have  formed  a  legitimate 
grievance,  since  not  even  a  nursery  governess  can 
control  her  inward  feelings  ;  and  even  Elizabeth 
admits  that  Miss  Jones's  outward  expression  was 
severely  perfect.  And  to  her  bosom  friend  Irais 
Elizabeth  is  simply  diabolical  when  she  thinks  that 
that  friend  is  trespassing  a  little  too  long  on  her 
hospitality.  She  makes  no  secret  of  her  opinion 
that  the  weeks  her  guests  are  with  her  is  time  lost 
so  far  as  her  pleasure  is  concerned,  and  even  goes 
so  far  as  to  say  that  it  rejoices  her  as  much  to  see 
them  go  as  to  see  them  come.  I  am  certain  that  it 
rejoices  her  far  more. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  our  good  Elizabeth 
has  no  wholesome  illusions  ;   glamour  is  unknown 


104  JUNE 

to  her ;  the  bump  of  reverence  is  wanting.  The 
Man  of  Wrath,  who  should  surely  be  sacred,  escapes 
her  scorn  no  more  than  the  others,  and  furnishes 
her  with  many  an  opportunity  for  jibes.  I  am 
positive  that  she  has  failed  to  bend  him  to  her 
imperious  will,  as  she  would  fain  bend  all  with 
whom  she  comes  into  contact.  She  has  certainly 
not  cured  him  of  holding  his  glass  in  his  left  hand, 
and  she  bears  him  a  perennial  grudge  in  con- 
sequence. 

At  the  moment  when  I  begin  to  wonder  if  there 
is  any  person  in  the  world  for  whom  she  really 
cares,  it  is  a  relief  to  find  her  confessing  that  she 
likes  her  coachman  almost  as  much  as  her  sundial ; 
but  it  turns  out  that  that  is  only  because  he  never 
attempts  to  thwart  any  of  her  unreasonable  wishes. 
She  hates  giving  presents,  lest  the  recipient  shall 
be  spoilt  and  she  shall  suffer  in  consequence.  She 
has  an  eccentric  dislike  to  furniture,  though  I  am 
convinced  that  she  would  be  the  first  to  cry  out  if 
she  had  not  enough  of  it,  or  if  her  armchair  was  not 
comfortable,  or  if  her  presses  were  not  large  enough 
to  hold  her  frocks.  But  there  is  no  pleasing  her. 
Things  animate  and  inanimate  alike  annoy  her,  and 
the  one  person  who  is  in  her  eyes  entirely  charming 
is  Elizabeth. 

And  indeed  she  is  not  very  far  wrong.  She  is 
a  fascinating  being,  and  Jim,  who  recommended 
the  book  to  me,  finds  it  difficult  to  endure  with 
equanimity  the  thought  that  the  Man  of  Wrath  has 
attained  by  right  of  conquest  the  privilege  of  her 
constant  companionship.  She  will  always  interest 
the  Man  of  Wrath  ;  she  will  never — though  the 


JUNE  105 

days  may  come  of  grey  hair  and  wrinkles — she  will 
even  then  never  bore  him.  She  will  keep  his 
affection  to  her  dying  hour,  however  flagrantly  she 
may  deserve  to  lose  it ;  but  one  cherishes  a  secret 
though  perhaps  unworthy  joy  in  the  assurance  that 
inordinately  as  he  may  adore  her,  he  will  never  let 
her  know  it.  Is  he  not  a  German  husband,  closely 
connected  in  his  modes  of  action  with  that  Dr.  Grill 
who  rouses  Elizabeth's  ire  ?  When  she  puts  forth 
her  fascinations  the  Man  of  Wrath  will  retire  with 
well-affected  indifference  to  his  series  of  smoky 
dens  in  the  south-east  corner  of  the  house.  When 
she  holds  forth  on  the  superiority  of  the  sex  he  will 
smile  blandly  down  on  her,  talking  her  at  last  into 
passionate  flight.  He  dominates  her  by  sheer 
strength  as  well  as  by  the  power  of  that  calm, 
irritating  smile. 

Although  Elizabeth  has  done  her  best  to  per- 
suade us,  I,  for  one,  do  not  feel  at  all  sure  that 
it  was  by  her  own  desire  that  she  went  to  live  in 
a  German  garden.  It  is  much  more  likely  that 
it  was  the  iron  will  of  the  Man  of  Wrath  which 
condemned  her  to  it  after  many  ineffectual  struggles, 
although  she  had  sense  enough  when  she  found 
herself  in  exile  to  pretend  that  she  liked  it.  How 
else  should  the  commiseration  of  the  neighbour- 
ing Patronising  Potentate — a  woman  potentate,  of 
course — have  roused  her  to  such  anger,  if  some 
secret  sting  had  not  lain  in  the  words— 

"  Ah,  these  husbands !  They  shut  up  their 
wives  because  it  suits  them,  and  don't  care  what 
their  sufferings  are." 

It  was  the  painful  unacknowledged  truth  of  the 


io6  JUNE 

remark  which  stung  the  resentful  Elizabeth.  And 
this  explains  the  whole  book. 

Here  is  a  woman,  young  and  lovely,  though 
somewhat  lacking  in  perfection  of  nasal  organ, 
condemned  by  her  Bluebeard  of  a  husband  to  live 
in  a  remote  Schloss  sorely  against  her  will.  The 
unfortunate  lady  immediately  becomes  a  cynic,  and 
professes  contempt  of  worldly  enjoyments.  But 
revenge  is  sweet,  and  in  her  case  necessary  to 
her  well-being,  so  she  sits  down  to  write  a  book 
which  will  proclaim  her  wrongs  abroad.  In  this 
book  she  wreaks  her  vengeance  on  society,  on  her 
friends  both  present  and  absent,  on  her  insentient 
furniture,  on  her  servants  (except  the  one  whom 
she  likes  nearly  as  much  as  her  sundial),  on  her 
governess,  and  even  on  her  husband.  She  employs 
as  her  vehicle  the  form  of  the  New  Fiction  as 
more  likely  to  attract  attention  than  the  old,  for 
if  she  had  put  her  experiences  into  an  ordinary 
novel,  the  circulation  might  have  been  limited  to 
a  paltry  five  hundred  or  so.  But  Elizabeth  knew 
better  than  to  do  this,  and  the  result  is  exactly 
as  she  anticipated,  for  everybody  has  a  bowing 
acquaintance  with  her,  and  everybody  is  devoted 
to  her.  She  has  a  real  live  charm  such  as  is 
seldom  found  in  the  mere  heroine  of  fiction,  and 
I  will  gladly  read  every  word  which  it  may  enter 
her  capricious  head  to  write,  no  matter  on  what 
subject  she  may  choose  to  discourse  us. 

A  totally  different  book  is  Mr.  Alfred  Austin's 
Garden  that  I  Love,  for  while  Elizabeth  gives  us, 
or  pretends  to  give  us,  all  her  inmost  thoughts, 
Mr.  Austin  bestows  upon  us  as  many  treasures  of 


JUNE  107 

actual  conversation  as  he  can  conveniently  gather 
together.  Our  Laureate,  as  we  who  read  our 
Times  know  well,  is  nothing  if  not  articulate.  He 
gives  us  poems  to  fit  our  many  imperial  moods, 
and  we  are  secure  of  the  enjoyment  at  first  hand 
of  the  inspiring  afflatus,  because  we  are  assured 
that  we  receive  them  just  as  they  come  to  him. 
I  suppose,  therefore,  that  the  mere  man  does  not 
venture  to  correct,  to  add  to,  or  to  take  from  the 
heaven-sent  beauties  bestowed  on  the  poet's  pen. 

In  the  Garden  that  I  Love  there  is  a  consider- 
able amount  of  Mr.  Austin's  verse.  It  is  difficult 
to  know  how  much,  for  both  he  and  Shakespeare 
are  alike  without  quotation  marks.  This  is  a  great 
pity.  The  original  verse  might  have  stood  un- 
supported, but  surely  Shakespeare  and  other  similar 
writers  should  have  been  propped  by  quotation 
marks.  How  else  can  we  distinguish  between  them 

o 

and  him  ?  The  situation  even  disarms  criticism, 
if  any  criticism  were  possible,  for  how  could  the 
mere  ordinary  person  venture  to  take  exception  to 
a  passage  which  might  turn  out  to  be  Milton's  ? 
It  is  obvious  that  the  only  thing  to  be  done  by 
the  wary  reader  is  to  ignore  the  poetical  portions 
of  the  book,  and  to  enjoy  that  part  which  describes 
the  garden  and  its  inhabitants ;  even  so  there  is 
much  still  left  us. 

Four  persons  inhabit  the  Garden  that  I  Love — 
the  writer,  who  is  also  the  gardener,  his  sister 
Veronica,  and  his  friends  the  poet  and  Lamia.  At 
least  we  are  artfully  persuaded  that  there  are  four 
persons  ;  in  reality  there  are  only  two — Veronica, 
and  the  gardener-poet  rolled  with  Lamia  into  one. 


io8  JUNE 

When  these  three  speak  seriously — and  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  serious  speaking  in  the  book — you 
would  not  know,  if  you  shut  your  eyes,  which  of 
them  is  addressing  you.  Lamia,  to  be  sure,  has 
her  frivolous  moments,  when  for  a  brief  space  she 
makes  a  possible  third  ;  but  when  she  is  rhetorical 
she  is  one  with  the  gardener  and  the  poet. 
Veronica,  on  the  other  hand,  has  a  separate 
identity ;  she  is  a  simple  being,  and  if  she  has 
views  she  keeps  them  carefully  to  herself.  There 
is  something  very  lovable  about  Veronica.  She 
listens  patiently  for  hours  to  all  that  the  others 
have  to  say,  and  then  she  goes  away  and  makes 
tea  for  them.  She  knows  how  exhausted  they 
must  be.  They  get  rid  of  so  many  treasures  of 
thought  that  they  must  necessarily  be  left  swept 
and  empty  ;  the  need  of  sustenance  is  plainly  in- 
dicated, and  Veronica  supplies  it. 

Perhaps,   however,   the  exhaustion   is    less    than 
it    might  have  been   if  certain   circumstances  had 

o 

not  come  to  their  aid ;  and  herein  is  manifest 
the  wisdom  of  the  Pooh-Bah  arrangement.  The 
chronicler  can  give  us  treasures  of  verse  as  from 
the  mouth  of  the  poet,  paragraphs  of  floricultural 
details  through  the  lips  of  the  gardener,  and  gems 
of  general  utility  from  the  irresponsible  Lamia. 
The  talents  of  the  three  if  displayed  in  one  person 
would  invite  incredulity.  We  should  think  it  im- 
possible that  one  small  head  could  carry  all  the 
aphorisms  and  gnomic  sayings  which  the  three 
are  anxious  to  distribute.  We  might  begin  to  fear 
cerebral  congestion.  So  to  spare  ourselves  distress 
and  anxiety  we  allow  the  writer  to  persuade  us 


JUNE  109 

that  there  are  indeed  three  heads  under  the  three 
hats,  and  thus  we  breathe  again. 

The  poet  sometimes  gives  vent  to  an  untenable 
theory,  but  the  gardener  and  Lamia,  of  course, 
cannot  be  expected  to  set  him  right,  and  dear 
little  Veronica  adores  him  far  too  much  to  do  so. 
He  is  bold  enough  to  justify  in  the  name  of 
restraint  the  bald  and  simple  verse  which  is  held 
by  some  of  our  later  poets  to  be  one  with  the 
true  stuff.  I  cannot  quite  go  with  him  here. 
Restraint  is,  no  doubt,  an  admirable  quality,  but 
one  ceases  to  admire  it  when  it  is  inevitable. 
It  is  difficult  to  esteem  the  restraint  of  a  gagged 
man  who  refrains  from  using  bad  language.  The 
restraint  and  nothing  more  of  which  we  see  so 
much  is  a  poor  thing  as  a  quality  of  verse,  and 
it  is  difficult  to  perceive  how  I'dme  agitde  of  a 
great  poet  in  its  moment  of  wildest  frenzy  could 
be  "controlled  by  the  serenity  of  the  mind." 
Rigorous  self-criticism  is  an  essential,  but  I  think 
that  it  would  follow,  not  accompany,  the  frenzy. 
A  poet  must  feel  much  in  order  to  make  his  readers 
feel  a  little  ;  he  must  weep  many  tears  to  ensure 
that  they  shall  weep  a  few.  When  a  poet  places 
us  in  a  situation  where  tears  are  obviously  in- 
dicated, I  fancy  we  are  justified  in  blaming  him 
if  they  do  not  come.  If  we  accuse  him  not  of 
restraint,  but,  like  the  gagged  man,  of  want  of 
power,  I  think  we  could  make  good  our  opinion. 
I  do  not  for  a  moment  mean  to  disparage  the  poet's 
admiration  of  restraint  as  a  beautiful  and  a  neces- 
sary quality  in  verse,  but  merely  to  contend  that 
most  of  the  restraint  that  would  call  itself  by  that 


i  io  JUNE 

name  is  of  the  sort  which  cannot  help  itself,  and 
this  must  be  regarded  as  a  defect  and  not  as  a 
beauty. 

But  if  the  poet  sometimes  rouses  in  me  the  spirit 
of  contradiction,  the  gardener  takes  a  mean  revenge 
by  trying  to  mystify  his  readers  just  as  they  think 
that  they  are  getting  on  nicely.  His  garden  fills 
one  with  envy,  not  only  because  there  seem  to  be 
no  failures  in  it,  but  also  on  account  of  its  aspect, 
which  varies  apparently  to  suit  the  flora  of  different 
climes.  Its  orientation  is  certainly  a  little  difficult 
to  understand,  but  of  course  I  am  quite  prepared  to 
ascribe  the  difficulty  to  my  own  stupidity,  and  to 
believe  that  occasionally  it  slopes  from  north-east 
to  south-west,  and  again  that  it  looks  south-east, 
simply  because  the  gardener  tells  me  so.  But  even 
this  readjustment  of  Nature's  aspects  will  not  quite 
account  for  all  the  wonders  that  are  in  that  garden. 
On  the  3Oth  of  May  the  gardener's  wood  is  covered 
with  primroses,  and  this  is  not  mentioned  as  an 
out-of-the-way  state  of  things,  but  is  given  as  a 
mere  matter  of  fact.  I,  who  have  not  his  gift  of 
extending  the  seasons  to  keep  my  garden  in  beauty, 
have  indeed  seen  primroses  on  the  3Oth  of  May, 
but  I  have  never  had  the  luck  of  beholding  a  wood 
in  the  south  of  England  "diapered  with  them"  on 
that  date.  I  can  only  believe  and  sigh  for  my  own 
more  limited  opportunities.  On  the  same  date  the 
gardener  describes  his  tulips  as  having  closed  their 
petals  for  the  night.  Though  it  is  a  little  late  for 
Dutch  tulips,  he  might  persuade  us  to  recognise  an 
equal  latitude  for  them  as  for  the  primroses  but 
that  he  has  informed  us  in  a  previous  chapter  that 


JUNE  1 1 1 

he  takes  up  these  bulbs  during  the  third  week  of 
May  and  lays  them  in  by  the  heels.  Of  course,  one 
is  then  justified  in  jumping  to  the  conclusion  that 
these  flowers  which  have  closed  their  petals  for 
the  night  are  the  late  English  tulips,  until  one  is 
reminded  that  in  a  previous  chapter  he  has  told  us 
that  he  has  never  made  proper  use  of  these.  This 
is  one  of  those  mysteries  which  hurt  the  under- 
standing. Has  he  made  any  use  of  them,  and  are 
they  the  flowers  that  have  just  closed  their  petals  for 
the  night,  or  are  his  Dutch  tulips  so  kind  as  to  give 
him  a  further  season  of  their  beauty  after  they  are 
laid  in  by  the  heels?  These  perplexities  in  a  book 
which  should  help  me  in  my  gardening  ought  not 
so  to  be.  They  are  too  cruel  to  the  merely  average 
floriculturist.  They  make  me  feel  how  small  are 
my  powers  in  comparison  with  the  powers  of  the 
gardener  in  this  book,  /cannot  find  large  expanses 
of  bluebells  on  my  domain  towards  the  latter  end  of 
June  ;  my  woods  are  not  diapered  with  primroses 
on  the  3Oth  of  May ;  I  cannot  grow  woodruff  from 
cuttings.  I  cannot  get  half  the  good  results  that 
this  gardener  gets  from  his  garden,  and  the  con- 
sciousness not  only  of  my  inferior  powers,  but  also 
of  Nature's  unkindness  in  giving  less  lavishly  to 
me  than  to  others,  induces  feelings  of  depression 
akin  to  despair.  The  gardener-poet  tells  us  that  if 
he  were  asked  which  of  his  works  he  likes  best  he 
would  answer  "  My  garden."  I  have  never  seen 
his  garden,  so  it  is  obviously  impossible  for  me  to 
re-echo  this  sentiment.  But  it  must  be  a  delightful 
garden  to  wander  in  and  to  admire,  even  at  the  risk 
of  unworthy  feelings  of  envy  and  the  like.  Loving 


112  JUNE 

care  has  been  lavished  upon  it  without  stint,  and 
Nature  has  met  the  workers  more  than  half-way, 
and  has  given  them  of  her  best.  But  it  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  beautiful  garden.  It  is  a  beauti- 
ful background  in  a  beautiful  picture — a  background 
for  inspiring  thoughts  and  brilliant  conversation 
which  demand  an  outlet  there  before  appearing  on 
the  printed  page  to  delight  a  wider  though  hardly 
a  more  appreciative  audience. 

Although  Jim  is  an  adorer  of  Elizabeth,  his 
special  detestation  in  literature  is  the  garden  book, 
and  in  this  he  is  supported,  as  in  many  other  things, 
by  Magdalen  Clifford.  If  I  have  neglected  before 
to  mention  Magdalen,  it  is  not  because  I  do  not 
love  her  very  dearly,  though  for  years  it  would 
never  have  occurred  to  me  that  she  could  be  loved 
of  our  family ;  for  she  is  that  supplanter  who 
stepped  into  Jim's  heritage.  When  she  came  to 
the  property  she.  was  a  toddling  child  governed 
by  her  mother,  who  established  a  successful  feud 
between  herself  and  us.  When  we  returned  to  our 
village  there  was  no  thought  of  any  intercourse 
between  ourselves  and  our  cousins  at  the  Manor. 
Magdalen's  mother  had  made  that  impossible. 
But  four  years  later,  on  a  day  when  joy  bells  rang 
for  Magdalen's  coming  of  age,  and  the  tenantry 
were  to  be  feasted  and  the  county  to  be  entertained 
— on  that  day,  in  the  fresh  spring  morning,  a  slim 
girl's  figure  swung  through  our  garden  gate,  and 
stepped  up  the  straight  path,  and  demanded  to  see 
Jim  and  me. 

"I  am  of  age  to-day,"  she  said.  "  I  am  eighteen, 
and  I  may  do  as  I  like.  I  want  you  to  let  me  know 


A  GIRL  CAME   UP  THE  STRAIGHT   PATH 


JUNE  113 

you  ;  I  want  to  be  friends.  I  am  of  age,  and  my 
own  mistress,  and  I  have  been  longing  for  it  just 
that  I  might  come  to  you.  You  won't  send  me 
away  ?  " 

There  was  a  suspicious  break  in  the  fresh  young 
voice,  and  I  kissed  her,  and  I  am  sure  that  Jim 
would  have  liked  to  kiss  her  too.  The  feud  was  at 
an  end  from  that  moment,  and  even  the  intolerable 
mother,  when  we  went  home  that  morning  with 
Magdalen,  tried  to  pretend  that  it  had  never  existed. 
The  years  have  passed  since  then,  and  Magdalen  is 
older  by  more  than  a  thousand  days,  but  is  no  less 
winning  than  she  was  on  that  morn  of  reconcilia- 
tion. Hardly  a  day  passes  that  she  does  not  come 
to  us,  or  we  to  her,  and  I  have  known  her  secret 
long  ago,  though  she  has  never  told  it.  But  Jim, 
being  a  man,  is  stupid  at  seeing,  or,  if  he  sees,  he 
keeps  his  counsel  well.  I  do  not  know  that  I  have 
much  hope  in  the  matter.  Magdalen  is  proud,  but 
Jim's  pride  is  to  hers  like  a  mountain  to  a  road 
grit ;  and  even  if  he  cared,  which  I  doubt,  he 
would  not  let  her  know.  There  would  be  too  much 
involved  in  it  for  him. 

June  29.  We  are  keeping  the  young  cineraria 
plants  in  a  cold  frame  on  the  north  side  of  a  hedge, 
and  a  veil  of  tiffany  is  laid  near  to  shade  them 
when  the  sun  is  high  in  the  heavens.  Cinerarias 
will  not  do  their  best  if  they  have  much  warmth  at 
any  stage  of  their  growth  except  the  last.  It  cost 
me  several  packets  of  seed  and  three  seasons'  ex- 
perience before  I  could  impress  this  fact  upon 
Sterculus,  but  he  talks  now  as  if  I  were  a  babe 
and  he  my  instructor  in  cineraria  growing, 
i 


114  JUNE 

"  It  ain't  no  good-on  to  talk  about  moving  these 
here  into  the  greenhouse,"  he  will  say  about  Sep- 
tember, a  propos  of  no  remark  of  mine  ;  "  for  not  a 
step  will  they  go  for  the  next  two  months  if  /  can 
help  it." 

This  is  the  good  Sterculus's  way  of  showing  me 
that  he  has  learnt  his  lesson.  I  ought  to  point  out 
to  him  that  he  is  mistaken  in  assuming  that  I  want 
to  coddle  the  cinerarias.  I  ought  to  put  a  stop  to 
his  domineering  tone  of  voice  ;  I  ought,  in  fact, 
to  "  keep  him  in  his  place,"  as  Mrs.  Clifford  is  fond 
of  telling  me.  But  I  am  still  glad  of  him,  and 
I  know  he  is  glad  of  me,  in  spite  of  his  peculiar 
way  of  showing  it.  So  I  accept  his  scorn,  being 
meek  as  a  mouse  the  while,  and  look  as  though  I 
had  learnt  a  valuable  lesson  from  him,  while  he  goes 
away  grunting  that  he  isn't  going  to  ruin  his  plants, 
not  for  nobody.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  always  be  glad 
of  Sterculus,  or  if  I  may  not  perchance  some  day 
contemplate  with  satisfaction  the  idea  of  his  de- 
parture, loving  tender  of  my  garden  though  he  is. 


JULY 

July  T^  XPERIENCE  of  a  bitter  sort  is  teach- 
4-  1^  ing  me  ever  the  necessity  of  staking 
plants.  In  principle  it  is,  of  course,  an  atrocious 
thing  that  should  never  be  permitted  in  borders, 
but  it  is  essentially  necessary  in  spite  of  principle. 
Some  things,  such  as  oriental  poppies,  cry  aloud 
even  in  infancy  for  stakes  ;  but  pyrethrums,  erige- 
rons,  delphiniums,  dahlias,  and  other  robust  plants 
stand  up  so  bravely  before  their  blossoms  form  that 
it  is  hard  to  believe  that  they  will  require  support 
later.  The  mischief  is  done  when  storms  come 
just  as  the  stems  are  heavy  with  blooms,  as  they 
did  this  year.  They  can  be  staked  in  their  early 
days  in  such  a  way  as  to  show  but  little  sign  of 
their  props  at  the  blooming  period.  The  best  time 
to  do  it  is  when  they  have  practically  attained  their 
full  height,  but  show  no  flower  buds,  and  the  best 
kind  of  stake  is  the  roughly  tooled  one  of  deal 
or  any  harder  wood,  painted  by  the  gardener  the 
colour  known  as  Aspinall's  fig-green. 

This  is  about  the  time  to  thin  the  buds  of  carna- 
tions. A  general  florist's  rule  is  to  leave  the  first, 
third,  and  fourth,  but  the  amateur  will  do  well  to 
act  in  the  matter  by  the  light  of  nature,  only  pro- 


ii6  JULY 

viding  that  each  blossom  shall  have  sufficient  stem 
to  itself  to  allow  of  its  being  comfortably  picked 
when  the  flowering  time  comes.  The  Margaret 
carnations  which  have  survived  the  winter  are  as 
forward  as  the  ordinary  border  kinds,  and  require 
more  severe  thinning  than  they.  With  a  good 
stock  of  border  plants  it  is  not  worth  while  to  keep 
the  Margarets  through  the  winter,  as  the  season 
is  not  thereby  prolonged.  But  all  must  sow  seed 
of  these  carnations  under  glass  in  February  and 
March,  to  ensure  flowers  for  cutting  in  the  autumn. 
Last  year  I  picked  my  last  bunch — of  but  half  a 
dozen  blooms,  I  confess — on  Christmas  Day,  but 
the  weather  would  rarely  in  any  season  permit  this 
after  November,  if  so  late.  I  have  just  seen  in 
a  friend's  garden  a  dozen  enormous  clumps,  over 
a  yard  in  diameter,  of  a  certain  border  carnation 
which  he  has  had  for  years.  The  flower  is  some- 
thing the  colour  of  the  rose  Mrs.  John  Laing,  but 
deeper  in  tone,  and  I  have  begged  some  layers 
from  the  lucky  possessor.  A  carnation  that  will 
increase  and  prosper  in  this  manner,  instead  of 
dwindling  away  in  a  decline  after  the  first  year 
or  two,  is  a  valuable  addition  to  a  garden. 

This  is  a  good  time  to  look  over  the  borders 
and  judge  what  things  should  be  removed  in  the 
autumn,  whether  through  over-abundant  growth 
or  by  their  present  juxtaposition  with  plants  whose 
colours  do  not  harmonise  with  theirs.  The  crimson 
pyrethrums,  for  instance,  though  pretty  enough  in 
themselves,  rarely  blend  well  with  other  flowers. 
It  is  best  to  keep  them  in  one  part  of  the  border, 
and  closely  among  them  may  be  planted  bulbs  of 


JULY  117 

the  Madonna  lily,  and  of  some  later  kinds  also,  to 
continue  the  season  of  bloom  in  that  part  of  the 
bed. 

Roses  are  a  feature  of  the  garden  now.  I  am 
not  specially  successful  with  them,  but  they  are 
doing  well  this  year.  To-day  I  cut  seventy  blooms 
for  the  house,  and  left  over  three  hundred  equally 
good  ones  on  the  bushes.  The  only  very  dark  one 
that  never  fails  is  Eugen  Flirst.  It  is  a  beautiful 
velvety  claret  colour,  remarkably  free -blooming, 
and  easily  managed.  It  is  not  so  perfect  a  flower 
as  Jean  Liabaud  at  its  best,  which  I  consider  the 
finest  of  all  the  dark  roses  ;  but  I  do  not  get  one 
good  bloom  in  a  dozen  of  Jean  Liabaud,  while 
every  one  comes  right  of  Eugen  Fiirst.  Of  true 
rose-coloured  ones  Countess  of  Oxford  is  as  use- 
ful as  any,  its  early  blossoms  especially  being  of 
a  wonderful  glowing  tint.  In  bright  crimsons 
A.  K.  Williams  is  unsurpassed  to  my  mind,  Ulrich 
Brunner  and  Marie  Baumann  being  also  excellent. 
Among  pinks  I  like  best  Madame  Gabrielle  Luizet, 
Mrs.  John  Laing,  and  Captain  Christy  for  good 
all-round  serviceable  qualities,  and  Margaret  Dick- 
son,  Violette  Bouyer,  and  Clio  are  a  good  white 
trio.  All  these  are  easy  to  rear  and  to  do  well. 
I  have  made  several  disastrous  experiments  in  rose- 
growing,  and  am  gradually  getting  rid  of  such  as 
will  not  repay  ordinary  attention.  I  had  a  bed, 
for  instance,  of  Salamander,  and  another  of  Ella 
Gordon,  both  greatly  lauded  by  the  growers,  and 
admirable  flowers  at  their  best,  but  as  they  never 
let  me  see  their  best  I  ceased  to  think  them  worth 
giving  up  my  beds  to,  and  they  are  now  trying  to  hold 


u8  JULY 

their  own  in  an  ignoble  place  under  some  standards, 
and  failing  sadly  still.  Spenser,  also,  in  which  I 
indulged  freely  without  any  experience  to  guide 
me,  turned  out  to  be  scentless,  and  though  in  most 
years  an  admirable  doer,  it  is  consequently  devoid 
of  charm  for  me.  It  is  a  sport  from  Baroness 
Rothschild,  or  from  her  progeny  Her  Majesty,  and 
inherits  this  bad  quality  from  her. 


EATS  ALL  THE  BLOOMS  HE  CAN  REACH 

July  75.  Crimson  Rambler  over  a  bower  is 
looking  exquisite.  It  ought  to  be  grown  with 
The  Garland,  if  any  combination  is  desired  with 
it.  The  two  bloom  together,  and  the  white  and 
crimson  look  well  intermixed.  An  old-fashioned 
evergreen  rose,  Flora,  on  a  north  wall  is  good  in 
many  useful  respects.  It  makes  rampant  wood, 
and  one  can  cut  great  boughs  of  it  for  the  house. 
Its  shell-tinted  little  blossoms  are  beautiful  of  their 
kind,  though  they  would  not  satisfy  those  persons 


JULY 


119 


who  must  have  all  their  flowers  of  the  largest  size. 
A  hedge  of  white  Ayrshires  and  pink  hedge-roses 
has  been  spoilt  by  the  new  pony,  who  puts  his  head 
over  and  eats  all  the  blooms  he  can  reach,  with  not 
a  few  thorns  as  well. 


EVENING    PRIMROSES   IN   THE   WILD  GARDEN 

The  yellow  alstromerias  are  in  full  glory.  There  is 
a  round  bed  of  them,  edged  with  fimkia  grandiflora, 
whose  beautiful  fringe  leads  the  long  stems  of  the 
alstromerias  gently  into  the  ground.  Many  persons 
refrain  from  growing  alstromerias  because  they  do 
not  consider  them  hardy,  but  they  are  hardy  enough 
if  planted  nine  inches  below  the  surface,  and  un- 


120  JULY 

like  many  bulbous  things,  they  do  not  object  to  such 
a  deep  burial.  They  are  rampant  growers,  and  it 
is  best  not  to  combine  them  with  other  flowers,  as 
they  soon  smother  all  their  neighbours.  Oriental 
poppies  may  be  cut  down  to  the  ground  as  soon  as 
they  have  ceased  flowering.  Some  of  mine  which 
were  so  treated  towards  the  end  of  June  are  now 
throwing  up  good  tufts  of  foliage  which  will  prevent 
their  being  an  eyesore  much  longer. 

Very  few  persons  care  properly  for  the  various 
evening  primroses  which  add  such  a  charm  to  the 
garden  in  July.  The  too  persistent  and  troublesome 
cenothera  biennis  and  its  allies  should  be  kept  in 
the  wild  garden,  but  such  varieties  as  CE.  Youngii, 
(E.  speciosa,  and  CE.  taraxacifolia  are  some  of  the 
best  perennials  I  know,  full  of  a  refined  beauty  and 
flowering  over  a  fairly  long  season.  They  are  all 
easy  to  grow,  and  it  is  worth  while  in  the  case  of 
the  last,  which  has  what  I  should  consider  an  un- 
deserved reputation  for  tenderness,  to  throw  over 
the  clumps  in  winter  a  handful  of  ashes  or  of  fern. 
This  dandelion-leafed  evening  primrose  makes  very 
large  spreading  plants  in  late  summer,  its  prostrate 
shoots  sometimes  reaching  a  yard  or  more  from 
its  root ;  and  it  is  well  to  plant  with  it  some 
earlier  bulbous  flower  which  will  bloom  before  the 
cenothera's  season  begins  in  July.  The  Spanish 
iris  makes  an  admirable  companion  for  it. 

This  is  St.  Swithun's  Day,  and  the  annual  village 
feast  is  being  celebrated.  Every  Giles  takes  his 
Jane,  and  the  enjoyment  is  fast  and  furious.  I 
used  to  go  to  it  sometimes  when  I  was  younger, 
but  this  led  more  than  once  to  complications  of 


JULY 


121 


an  awkward  sort.  It  is  better  not  to  see  one's 
rustic  friends  when  they  are  in  a  state  which  could 
only  euphemistically  be  called  rollicking.  And 


REVELLERS 


besides,  they  hurt  one's  feelings  sometimes  when 
beer  is  inside  them. 

"  We  likes  'ee  ;  we  be  allus  glad  to  see  'ee — but 
we  can  do  wi'out  'ee,"  said  one  of  my  best  friends 
on  such  an  occasion  as  this. 

"  I've  knowed  'ee  since  I  used  to  kiss  'ee  when 


122 


JULY 


'ee  was  the  height  of  a  sha-a-ft,"  said  an  ancient 
carter  in  liquor  on  another  feast  day  to  me.  So 
perhaps  it  is  better  to  stay  away  both  for  their 
credit  and  for  my  own.  The  last  time  I  was  there 


"THE  HEIGHT  OF  A  SHA-A-FT" 

we  went  a  little  party  of  four,  and  we  took  refuge 
from  rollickers  at  the  cocoanut  shy.  The  cocoa- 
nut  man  supplied  us  with  the  value  of  a  few  pence 
in  wooden  balls  with  the  utmost  alacrity  ;  but  very 
soon  his  delight  turned  to  gloom,  and  presently  he 
offered  us  sixpence  to  desist  from  our  throwing,  so 


JULY  123 

even  he  could  "do  wi'out  us."  I  shall  not  go  to  our 
feast  again,  for  although  I  like  to  see  the  rustic 
enjoy  himself,  I  do  not  care  to  meet  him  in  his  cups. 
The  sight  is  not  a  pretty  one. 

And  yet  it  is  wonderful  when  one  comes  to  con- 
sider the  vast  improvement  that  a  few  years  have 
worked  in  this  matter.  The  agricultural  labourer 
may  not  yet  be  a  sober  man,  but  he  is  infinitely  more 
sober  than  he  used  to  be  when  I  was  a  girl,  and  the 
best  sign  of  all  is  in  the  fact  that  public  opinion  is 
dead  against  him  when  he  is  given  to  indulgence  in 
too  much  liquor.  Formerly  the  thing  was  so  much 
a  matter  of  course  that  there  appeared  to  be  no 
difference,  or  at  any  rate  very  little,  between  the 
uniformly  steady  man  and  the  man  who  was  given 
to  an  occasional  "  breaking  out,"  in  the  estimation 
of  his  neighbours  of  his  own  rank.  But  education 
and  a  general  tendency  to  level  up  have  done 
wonders  in  raising  the  standard  of  public  opinion, 
and  the  man  who  only  indulges  in  an  occasional 
debauch  is  looked  upon  almost  as  coldly  as  the 
hopeless  sot  who  spends  every  night  and  half  his 
earnings  at  the  public-house. 

The  rustic  is  a  curious  and  amusing  study  when 
he  first  begins  to  feel  the  craving  for  self-improve- 
ment, especially  if  the  time  for  such  craving  has 
been  delayed  until  his  youth  is  past.  The  process 
is  somewhat  uncomfortable  while  it  is  yet  a  process, 
for  it  seems  necessarily  to  involve  the  giving  up  of 
old  ways  and  modes  of  thought  simply  because  they 
are  old — of  throwing  off  recognised  customs  merely 
because  they  have  existed  too  long.  The  man  of 
advanced  views  in  a  country  village  has  no  means 


124  JULY 

of  testing  these  views  and  proving  their  value  ;  they 
can  never  develop  into  experience.  He  has  a 
yearning  for  another  sphere  of  action  in  which  his 
associates  will  be  those  who  think  as  he  thinks,  but 
he  is  probably  married,  and  the  burdens  of  the 
father  and  the  householder  restrict  his  liberty,  so 
he  tries  to  compass  for  his  children  that  enlarge- 
ment which  he  has  no  means  of  actually  securing 
for  himself. 

One  of  my  friends  is  a  man  of  this  description. 
He  prides  himself  on  his  modernity,  and  he  despises 
his  wife  a  little  because  she  cannot  understand  him. 
Maria  has  been  brought  up  in  conventional  mode, 
and  any  departure  from  it  strikes  her  merely  as 
eccentric — "comical,"  as  it  is  called  in  village  circles. 
So  the  two  are  living  at  opposite  poles,  but  they 
meet  and  shake  hands  whenever  the  question  of  the 
children  arises. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do  wi'  the  childern,"  sighs 
poor  Maria,  with  latent  pride  and  yet  a  little  antici- 
patory fear  ;  "  they  be  gettin'  so  clever." 

"  They  be  !  "  responds  her  husband  proudly. 

"  When  they  comes  home  from  school  they  talks 
about  oblongs  an'  sperricals,  an'  /  don't  know  what 
they  be  drivin'  at,  Dan'el." 

"  Danny-ul,"  corrects  the  husband,  who  goes  in 
for  correctness  of  speech  so  far  as  he  recognises  it. 

"  Danny-ul,"  assents  Maria. 

"  Ah  !  "  says  Daniel,  with  a  reproachful  shake  of 
the  head  at  his  wife's  hopeless  ignorance,  "  mine 
be  a  clever  fam'ly,  Merire,  an'  no  mistake  ;  an' 
when  folks  asks  where  they  gets  it  from,  I  says, 
'  Not  from  their  moother.'  That's  what  I  says, 
*  Not  from  their  moother." 


JULY 


125 


"  Maybe,"  assents  Maria  wearily. 

Maria  thinks  that  it  is  the  duty  of  a  woman  to 
listen  to  her  husband's  words  of  wisdom,  to  fetch 
and  to  carry  for  him,  to  bear  him  children  and  to 
be  their  slave,  to  keep  his  house  clean,  and  to  earn 


"NOT   FROM    THEIR    MOOTHER " 

a  little  money  in  the  intervals  by  field-work  or 
charing.  Her  politics,  unlike  her  husband's,  are 
extremely  narrow.  The  only  government  from 
which  she  has  ever  received  any  tangible  benefit  is 
an  ecclesiastical  one,  and  her  hopes  and  expectations 
centre  on  the  prime  ministry  of  the  parson.  If  a 


126  JULY 

pig  dies  he  is  good  for  several  shillings  towards  its 
successor  ;  his  long-tailed  coats  cut  up  into  two  for 
the  boys,  with  a  piece  to  spare  for  patches  ;  his 
store  of  beef-tea  and  little  liver  pills  and  flannel  is 
practically  inexhaustible.  Of  course,  there  are  many 
things  which  he  might  give  her,  yet  does  not  give  ; 
she  by  no  means  approves  entirely  even  of  him. 
But  on  the  other  hand  there  is,  with  his  exception, 
no  person  in  the  world  from  whom  she  can  count 
on  extracting  anything  whatever  ;  and  her  politics 
are  confined  to  the  maintenance  of  friendly  relations 
with  the  sole  government  which  comes  within  the 
limit  of  her  experience. 

Her  religion  is  also  narrow.  She  clings  with 
fervour  to  the  book  of  Genesis  and  to  a  few  other 
plain  and  simple  stories  in  subsequent  portions  of 
the  Bible  which  seem  to  her  coherent  and  worthy 
of  attention.  Sometimes  this  is  a  grief  to  her 
husband,  who  objects  to  her  readings  as  behind  the 
feeling  of  the  age. 

"  Don't  tell  the  child  the  world  was  made  in  six 
days,  an'  don't  tell  en  it  wasrit"  he  urges.  "  Leave 
en  to  puzzle  it  out  fer  hisself — himself — an'  come  to 
the  conclusion  whe'r  it  sounds  a  likely  story." 

For  Daniel  calls  himself  "an  up-to-date  sort  o' 
feller,"  and  objects  to  bigotry  from  any  point  of 
view  whatever.  "  Us  findy-seekle  chaps  goes  fer 
toleration,"  he  says,  and  his  politics  and  his  religion 
are  alike  devoid  of  prejudice,  except  at  election 
times,  when  his  innate  Liberalism  becomes  some- 
what rabid  in  its  quality. 

He  is  very  firm  on  the  subject  of  education.  His 
children  dare  not  miss  an  attendance  at  school,  for 


JULY  127 

he  maintains  that  from  education  come  all  the  good 
things  of  life.  The  arts  especially  impress  him  with 
their  importance.  He  never  grudges  the  money  to 
buy  a  violin  for  Jessie  or  a  cornet  for  Sidney  ;  but 
it  is  Maria  who  has  to  scrape  and  to  save  and  to  go 
shabby  to  pay  the  bill,  for  a  wage  of  fifteen  shillings 
a  week  leaves  little  margin  for  luxuries. 

"  Did  Choice  go  out  an'  take  a  picter  to-day  as  I 
told  en  ?  "  he  asks,  after  supper. 

"  Yes,  Dan  el." 

"  Danny-iil." 

"Yes,  Danny-ul,  he  did." 

"  What  picter  did  he  take  ?  " 

"Him  an'  Tom  Dunch  went  up  to  the  vicarage 
an'  set  down  afore  the  house  an'  took  its  picter  quite 
comferable.  The  Vicar  come  out  an'  looked  at  'em." 

"Ah!  the  Vicar'll  see  as  he  ain't  the  on'y  one 
as  can  take  sketches  of  other  folks'  houses,"  says 
Daniel,  with  satisfaction.  "Our  eddication  autho- 
rities is  gettin'  the  right  way  to  work  at  last.  In 
twenty  years'  time  there'll  be  as  many  artisses  in 
cottages  as  there  is  in  mansions.  Let  me  see  the 
picter." 

The  picture  has  been  carefully  put  away  in  the 
drawer  of  the  dresser,  wrapped  in  a  sheet  of 
Reynolds '.  Daniel  holds  it  between  his  finger  and 
thumb,  and  puts  his  head  first  on  one  side  and  then 
on  the  other,  to  focus  it  rightly. 

"  There's  talent  in  it,"  he  remarks  admiringly, 
when  he  has  finished  his  scrutiny  ;  "  there's  talent 
in  it.  I  don't  say  'tis  like  a  house,  an'  I  don't  say 
'tis  the  size  of  a  house.  What  I  says  is,  there's 
talent  in  it.  I  see — saw — a  sketch  of  Mr.  Bunce's 


128 


JULY 


the  other  day,  an'  'twas  done — did — done  pretty 
much  in  this  style  ;  the  cows  was  on'y  about  an 
inch  long  an'  the  barns  wasn't  a  quarter  o'  their 


"THIS   HERE   SKETCH    IS   UP   TO   DATE5' 

nateral  length.  You  see  you  couldn't  get  'em  all 
in  if  you  was  to  make  'em  life-size.  You  couldn't 
get  a  cow  in,  let  alone  a  barn." 

It  has  struck  Maria  that  the  windows  in  Choice's 


JULY  129 

cottage  are  ludicrously  inadequate  for  the  admission 
of  light  and  air,  and  the  dog  lying  on  the  doorstep 
is  more  the  size  of  a  blackbeetle  than  of  a  dog, 
for  Choice's  hand  has  been  guided  by  the  Vicar, 
and  proportion  and  perspective  have  been  to  some 
extent  recognised  in  consequence.  The  many 
chromos  on  the  kitchen  wall  are  accepted  as  mere 
pictures,  not  being  comparable  with  anything  exist- 
ing in  nature.  But  everyone  knows  old  Toby, 
and  loud  guffaws  would  be  likely  to  follow  the 
exhibition  of  a  portrait  which  makes  him  look 
no  larger  than  a  wasp  on  the  window-pane. 

"When  there's  anything  in  a  picter  as  can't  be 
understood,  Merire,  or  anything  as  looks  unnateral, 
depend  upon  it  'tis  summat — somethink — artistic. 
This  here  sketch  shows  talent,  and  this  here  sketch 
is  up  to  date.  I  shall  make  a  frame  fer  it  the  next 
wet  day  we  gets,  an'  Choice  shall  be  an  artis'." 

Daniel  is  a  keen  observer  of  the  phenomena 
of  nature,  and  a  student  of  White's  History  of 
Selborne,  which  he  borrows  from  the  village  library. 
He  cordially  agrees  with  most  of  the  theories  con- 
tained in  this  book,  not  excepting  that  one  which 
represents  the  swallow  as  hibernating  in  the  mud 
at  the  bottom  of  ponds.  He  holds  that  he  could 
have  told  the  author  many  details  which  are  miss- 
ing from  the  History,  as  well  as  much  that  he 
reads  therein,  and  could  in  this  latter  case  have 
spared  him  the  trouble  of  puzzling  them  out  for 
himself.  He  has  lately  taken  to  astronomy,  and 
has  learnt  the  names  and  positions  of  a  few  of  the 
principal  constellations,  and  at  times  of  eclipses  and 
of  the  reappearance  of  comets  he  has  much  to  say. 
K 


130  JULY 

Meteors  also  greatly  interest  him,  and  those  which 
were  expected  some  time  since,  and  never  arrived, 
roused  his  scorn  of  the  wise  men  who  had  foretold 
them.  He  spent  several  nights  in  searching  for 
them,  and  even  now  he  is  not  tired  of  relating  his 
curious  experiences  to  a  sympathetic  listener. 

"  I  scanned  the  horrazon,"  he  says,  "from  Uriah 
to  Ursula  Major "  (did  he  mean  from  Orion  to 
Ursa  Major?),  "an'  I  saw  no  me-oters  whatever. 
But  some  queer  things  happened  in  the  sky- 
things  as  comical  as  ever  I  did  see.  Ursula  was 
behavin'  quite  proper"  (very  consoling,  this),  "an' 
the  Pole  Star,  he  never  budged  an  inch  ;  but  most 
o'  the  big  stars  wandered  about  a  good  bit,  some 
on  'em  as  many  as  twenty  or  thirty  yards  from  their 
rightful  plazes.  There  wasn't  no  me-oters,  not  to 
call  me-oters,  but  what  /  says  is  I  expects  that's 
how  they  went  off." 

I  cannot  quite  follow  my  friend  Daniel's  line  of 
reasoning  here,  but  his  interest  in  astronomy  is  as 
indisputable  as  his  strict  sobriety. 

July  24.  Before  the  end  of  this  month  two  of 
the  most  important  of  outdoor  operations  demand 
attention — the  budding  of  roses  and  the  layering 
of  carnations. 

Few  things  are  more  heartbreaking  than  to  see 
unclouded  skies  succeed  each  other,  day  in,  day 
out,  all  through  the  time  when  rosebuds  are  crying 
aloud  to  be  united  to  the  brier  stock.  I  have 
never  been  very  successful  in  budding  after  giving 
them  water  from  the  watering-pot,  though  I  have 
carried  on  the  operation  for  a  week  or  more  before 
budding.  The  natural  rain  from  heaven  is  far  more 


JULY  131 

satisfactory  than  the  gardener's  feeble  attempts  to 
supply  moisture.  This  year  Jupiter  Pluvius  has 
been  good  to  us,  and  the  sap  is  rising  fairly 
quickly  after  a  considerable  period  of  dry  weather. 
Budding  is  not  easily  learned  from  books;  a  half- 
hour's  lesson  from  a  practical  gardener  will  teach 
it  far  more  easily  and  correctly.  But  it  is  well 
to  remind  oneself  at  times  of  little  details  which 
may  possibly  be  forgotten. 

All  through  the  spring  an  eye  is  kept  on  the 
stocks,  and  only  those  branches  are  allowed  to 
grow  which  are  the  required  height  from  the  base 
of  the  tree.  We  generally  keep  two  shoots  on 
each  stock,  and  enter  buds  on  both,  in  case  one 
should  fail  ;  if  both  take,  the  upper  one  is  removed 
by  cutting  away  the  head.  It  is  a  great  mistake  to 
shorten  back  the  spray  at  the  time  of  budding,  for 
this  checks  the  flow  of  sap,  and  the  buds  may  fail 
for  want  of  nourishment. 

When  the  stock  has  been  budded  the  gardener's 
care  does  not  yet  come  to  an  end.  In  favourable 
circumstances  the  bud  unites  in  five  or  six  weeks' 
time,  and  the  heads  must  be  looked  over  and  the 
ties  loosened  a  little  if  they  require  it ;  that  is  to 
say,  if  the  bud  is  swelling  and  the  ligature  is  tight. 
Sometimes  the  bud  remains  dormant  until  the 
following  spring,  so  that  the  tie  need  not  be 
unbound  ;  but  often  it  begins  to  grow  in  the  late 
summer,  and  requires  stopping  as  soon  as  it  is  a 
few  inches  high.  This  causes  the  sap  to  con- 
centrate in  the  rings,  and  thus  to  prepare  the  way 
for  the  pushing  of  side-shoots  next  spring,  and  the 
consequent  formation  of  a  good  head,  About 


132  JULY 

October  we  cut  in  the  head  of  wild  brier  to  a 
moderate  extent,  not  entirely  removing  it ;  and 
even  in  March,  when  the  tree  is  finally  trimmed, 
one  bud  of  the  wild  branch  is  left  above  the  in- 
serted bud.  This  is  called  the  sap  bud,  and  it 
draws  the  sap  upward  and  helps  the  scion  to  push 
into  a  head.  If  this  wild  bud  were  not  left  the  sap 
might  not  easily  flow  into  the  inserted  scion,  and 
the  brier  would  throw  up  side-shoots  all  down  the 
stem  instead  of  concentrating  its  powers  on  the  new 
bud. 

With  the  pruning  of  the  spray .  in  March  comes 
the  cutting  in  of  the  brier  top,  which  was  probably 
a  few  inches  taller  than  the  branch  on  which  the 
bud  was  entered.  This  top  is  cut  down  in  a  slightly 
slanting  direction  so  closely  to  the  base  of  the 
budded  shoot  that  hardly  more  than  the  eighth  of 
an  inch  shall  remain  above  it.  The  wound  is 
covered  with  clay  paint  to  prevent  the  loss  of 
sap. 

Presently  the  sap  bud  begins  to  grow  vigorously, 
and  when  it  has  shown  perhaps  three  pair  of 
leaves  it  is  stopped  by  nipping  off  the  top.  This 
will  induce  the  inserted  bud  to  take  the  lead,  and 
it  should  now  grow  away  merrily,  the  sap  bud  being 
reduced,  if  necessary,  by  degrees  to  smaller  dimen- 
sions, and  finally  about  midsummer  cut  away  alto- 
gether. By  this  time  the  wild  growth  will  be 
entirely  superseded  by  the  rose,  which  should  be 
a  good  tree,  carrying  the  best  flowers  it  will  ever 
bear,  for  from  these  maiden  plants  come  the  finest 
blooms  which  adorn  the  tables  at  the  rose  shows. 

Carnations  should  be  layered  while  yet  the  plants 


JULY  133 

are  in  full  flower,  or  they  will  not  root  sufficiently 
to  be  transplanted  in  the  early  autumn.  Conse- 
quently the  end  of  July,  or  the  early  days  of 
August,  are  the  most  suitable.  The  earth  is 
scraped  away  round  the  plants  to  a  depth  of  two 
inches,  and  the  hole  is  filled  up  with  good  potting 
soil.  Each  shoot  is  stripped  up  to  the  top  four 


!<IN    MA    PAWKET 


joints,  and  then  with  a  sharp  knife  the  cut  is  made 
half  through  a  shoot,  just  below  a  joint,  with  a  slant 
upward  and  through  the  joint.  A  layering  peg  is 
inserted  into  the  compost  above  the  tongue,  and  as 
the  peg  comes  down  into  the  ground  it  catches  the 
tongue  and  thrusts  it  into  the  earth.  A  little  more 
soil  is  placed  over  the  tongue,  the  plants  are  care- 
fully watered,  and  by  early  October  they  should  be 


134  JULY 

well  rooted  and  ready  to  transfer  to  their  flowering 
quarters. 

July  27.  The  curate  has  just  called  on  his  way 
home  from  his  holiday.  He  has  been  for  three 
weeks  in  Normandy,  and,  as  he  was  walking,  I 
naturally  asked  him  where  his  luggage  was. 

"  In  ma  pawket,"  he  replied. 

There  was  no  sign  of  a  bulge  in  any  of  his 
pockets  except  the  betraying  outline  of  a  pipe  over 
his  heart.  The  dear  old  man  is  leaving  here  next 
month,  and  intends  to  die  in  the  North  Country, 
where  he  was  born  and,  from  his  speech,  evidently 
reared  as  well.  He  is  parlous  old — anything  be- 
tween seventy  and  eighty — and  his  faculties  are 
not  what  they  were.  The  Sunday  before  he  went 
for  his  holiday  there  was  to  be  a  baptism  at  the 
evening  service,  and  the  clerk,  to  ensure  his  re- 
membering it,  wrote  on  the  back  of  a  National 
Anthem,  which  had  been  left  unnoticed  ever  since 
the  Accession,  the  warning  words — 

"  Crisnen  after  2  lessen." 

Mr.  Tyler  jumped  up  from  his  knees  in  the 
middle  of  the  General  Confession,  and  announced 
firmly— 

"  We  will  now  sing  *  God  save  the  King.' ' 

The  choirman  nearest  him  redirected  his  atten- 
tion to  his  prayer,  and  after  a  breathless  interval  of 
anxiety  all  went  well  again.  One  Sunday  last 
spring  he  unconsciously  modified  one  of  the  peti- 
tions in  the  Litany  in  a  rather  startling  manner, 
which,  however,  was  quite  unperceived  by  his 
rustic  congregation. 

"That  it  may  please  Thee  to  bless  and  preserve 


JULY  135 

to  our  use  George  Prince  of  Wales,  the  Princess  of 
Wales,  and  all  the  Royal  Family,  so  that  in  due 
time  we  may  enjoy  them." 

These  alterations  in  divine  service  are  a  little 
disturbing  to  the  attentive  worshipper,  though  we 
are  now  quite  accustomed  to  his  announcing  the 
hymn  as  the  "  three  hundred  and  forty-second  morn- 
ing of  the  month,"  and  there  is  not  a  smile  as  we 


CHOIR-BOYS 


look  for  the  canticle  so  numbered  in  our  books. 
I  heard  a  small  choir-boy,  however,  whose  patience 
presumably  was  exhausted,  say  to  another  one  even- 
ing as  we  issued  in  the  dark  from  the  porch — 

6  What  /  says  is,  he's  like  a  old  'orse  as  ought  to 
be  shot " ;  but  luckily  Mr.  Tyler  is  deaf,  and  as  the 


136  JULY 

child  had  no  thought  that  he  was  overheard  it 
seemed  best  to  ignore  the  remark.  Everyone  likes 
the  good  old  soul,  and  wishes  him  well.  The  God 
to  whom  he  tries  his  best  to  lead  us  is  a  strictly 
anthropomorphic  Being,  and  the  heaven  he  pro- 
mises us  every  Sunday  would  rival  the  Mohamme- 
dan paradise.  We  rarely  get  a  sermon  without  a 
vivid  description  of  "the  dainties  and  deli^^cies  of 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,"  and  he  smacks  his  lips 
when  he  speaks  of  them.  He  has  had  so  few 
nice  things  in  his  life,  poor  dear !  There  are 
other  stereotyped  features  in  his  sermons  which 
we  look  for  every  Sunday,  such  as  "going  up  and 
down  the  rahpids  of  life  " ;  and  when  he  traces  the 
footsteps  of  biblical  exemplars  for  our  guidance,  he 
does  not  follow  them  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave, 
but  from  the  "  bahsinette  to  the  sepulchre." 


AUGUST 

Aug.  T  AM  MAS  DAY  rouses  in  me  all  the  anta- 
!•  1  ^  gonism  to  our  modern  land  tenure  of 
which  my  disposition  is  capable.  A  feature  which 
was  once  so  prominent  in  village  life  and  is  now 
non-existent  was  the  possession  by  the  people  of 
large  tracts  of  land  held  in  common.  From  Lam- 
mas or  from  Michaelmas  to  Lady  Day  these  tracts 
practically  belonged  to  the  villager.  We  have  in 
this  parish  various  large  portions  of  waste  and 
marsh  lands  which  at  one  time  formed  part  of 
a  great  public  property.  Even  so  recently  as  the 
year  1550  a  Survey  of  the  parish  recites  the 
boundaries  of  extensive  heaths  and  commons  on 
which  parishioners  were  entitled  to  pasture  their 
cattle ;  but  it  is  probable  that  these  rights  of 
"free  communication"  had  in  some  degree  lapsed 
before  the  lands  were  enclosed  and  appropriated 
by  the  lord  of  the  manor  in  1820.  In  Saxon  days, 
however,  they  must  have  formed  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  whole  parish. 

Though  the  point  has  never  been  clearly  set  at 
rest,  it  is  justifiable  to  believe  that  at  the  periods 
of  the  early  settlements  of  our  country  a  large 
proportion  of  the  land  belonged  to  the  people. 

137 


138  AUGUST 

The  freemen  of  the  village  community  owned  a 
lord,  indeed,  but  he  was  hardly  better  than  primus 
inter  pares,  and  had  his  recognised  duties  side  by 
side  with  his  recognised  rights.  To  understand  the 
position  it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind  the  sparse- 
ness  of  the  population.  The  county  of  Middlesex, 
for  instance,  so  lately  as  eight  hundred  years  ago  was 
estimated  to  contain  only  2, 289  souls.  The  patches  of 
cultivated  ground  in  a  village  in  Saxon  days  would 
be  infinitesimal  in  comparison  with  their  surround- 
ing expanses  of  folk  land.  A  lord  might  slice  off 
for  himself  any  choice  portions,  and  yet  leave  for 
the  community  more  than  they  could  use  of  the 
desolate  areas  of  waste  or  forest  in  which  they  had 
their  rights.  In  later  times  the  permission  of  the 
King  was  necessary  for  this  sort  of  appropriation, 
and  I  find  in  the  twelfth  century  a  writ  of  Henry  I. 
which  refers  to  this  parish.  The  King  had  here 
a  huntsman  called  Crook  ;  it  is  to  "  Croco  vena- 
tori  "  that  he  addresses  his  mandate,  requiring  him 
to  permit  the  monks  of  Abingdon  to  break  up 
certain  waste  land  in  the  parish.  The  monks  had 
a  settlement  here,  and  it  would  be  beneficial  to  all 
sections  of  the  community  that  they  should  bring 
under  cultivation  a  part  of  the  waste  tract,  which  was 
practically  valueless  because  there  was  a  great  deal 
too  much  of  it.  The  people  were  few  ;  their  pro- 
perty was  almost  illimitable.  The  breaking  up  of 
more  land  would  represent  an  increase  of  food  and 
employment  for  the  inhabitants.  So  Crocus  Venator 
was  told  to  put  no  hindrance  in  the  way  of  the 
monks,  who  were  doubtless  inspired  by  benevolence 
in  their  agricultural  intentions. 


AUGUST  139 

Our  parish  in  those  days,  though  of  course  co- 
terminus  with  several  other  parishes,  had  little 
communication  with  them.  Beyond  its  practicable 
limits  lay  a  lonely  waste.  In  the  centre  was  the 
ham,  with  the  lord's  wooden  hall,  the  church,  and 
rude  hovels  made  of  wattle  and  daub.  Around 
this  was  the  cultivated  land  and  grass  yards  for 
rearing;  calves  and  other  animals  —  the  common 

o 

farmstead,  in  fact.  Then  came  the  pastures  in 
which  the  people  had  rights  after  the  lord  had 
made  his  hay.  And  outside  all  were  the  woods 
and  marshes  and  uncultivated  land,  generally  termed 
the  waste.  From  this  waste  the  public  supplied 
themselves  with  firebote,  hedgebote,  and  housebote, 
and  also  found  what  sustenance  for  their  oreese  and 

o 

cattle  and  other  stock  the  more  restricted  pasture 
areas  could  not  yield.  But  although  sometimes 
portions  of  this  waste  were  taken  over  and  tilled, 
and  came  thus  gradually  under  cultivation,  this  was 
not  the  only  means  by  which  waste  land  was 
reclaimed.  Occasionally  the  portionless  younger 
son  of  a  lord  would  break  away  from  his  family 
and  penetrate  into  the  waste  with  a  few  followers, 
build  dwellings,  and  cultivate  the  hitherto  virgin 
soil,  and  thus  a  new  lordship  would  be  gradually 
formed,  with  powers  over  its  adherents,  and  in 
time  recognised  suzerainty  over  all  who  dwelt 
within  its  boundaries. 

At  the  time  of  the  Norman  Conquest  most  of 
the  twenty  thousand  Saxon  manors  were  taken  over 
by  new  lords.  In  some  counties,  as  over  the 
border  in  Hampshire,  the  passion  of  the  King 
and  his  court  for  hunting  caused  the  afforesting 


140  AUGUST 

of  large  tracts  of  land  which  had  been  reclaimed 
and  given  over  to  the  plough.  The  workers 
were  driven  from  their  fields,  elbowed  out  of 
their  lands,  and  compelled  sometimes  to  find 
means  of  subsistence  in  unlawful  ways.  But  apart 
from  this  local  evil  attendant  on  the  change,  the 
land  question  was  but  little  altered.  The  King 
claimed  seignorial  sway  over  all  the  lands  of 
England,  but  in  his  redistribution  there  was  little 
outward  change  in  the  actual  position  of  the  lower 
classes  as  regards  their  common  rights.  This  came 
gradually  and  imperceptibly.  By  degrees  the  waste, 
which  was  originally  the  people's  waste,  began  to 
be  designated  as  the  lord's  waste.  The  manorial 
system,  which  was  defined  and  fixed  under  Norman 
lawyers,  recognised  with  the  King's  suzerainty 
the  landlord's  all-embracing  ownership.  Since  he 
owned  the  persons  of  his  dependents,  he  regarded 
himself  as  owner  also  of  their  property.  The 
legal  theory  assumed  the  landlord  as  deriving  his 
property  in  the  first  instance  by  a  grant  from 
the  Crown,  he  in  his  turn  giving  out  of  his  con- 
sideration certain  privileges  to  his  tenants  and 
serfs.  The  earlier  communal  ownership  of  land 
was  ignored  by  those  who  were  strong  enough 
to  take  all  that  they  coveted  ;  and  so  by  degrees 
the  people's  waste  became  the  lord's  waste,  and 
the  heritage  of  the  poor  was  grabbed  by  the 
rich  and  powerful.  And  thus  there  grew  up  a 
belief  that  the  common  lands  were  rightly  diverted 
from  their  proper  use  when  the  lord  assumed  his 
ownership  of  them  and  determined  to  enclose  and 
cultivate  them  ;  and  those  commoners  who  pro- 


AUGUST  143 

tested  against  his  encroachments  found  themselves 
confronted  in  the  year  1235  with  a  special  Act 
drawn  up  for  their  discomfiture  and  disinheriting. 
This  Act,  the  famous  Statute  of  Merton,  was  in 
effect  the  first  of  nearly  seventeen  hundred  En- 
closure Acts,  which  up  to  the  year  1800  robbed  the 
poor  man  of  his  property  and  gave  it  to  the  rich 
man.  In  1801  the  provisions  of  these  many  Bills 
were  consolidated  in  Sir  John  Sinclair's  Enclosure 
Act,  under  whose  ample  provisions  the  work  of 
spoliation  went  on  apace,  and  the  next  generation 
saw  its  completion.  The  people  woke  up  to  find 
themselves  stript  of  their  property.  They  had 
ceased  to  be  owners  of  land ;  the  only  portion 
which  had  ever  been  theirs  had  been  stolen  from 
them  while  they  slept. 

We  can  still  trace  in  our  parish  the  last  rem- 
nants of  folk  land,  which  were  enclosed  nearly  a 
century  ago.  Up  to  that  time  on  Lammas  Day 
the  heath  began  to  be  noisy  with  the  lowing  of 
cows  and  the  quacking  of  geese,  and  gay  with 
children  whose  right  it  was  to  play  there.  There 
are  not  many  ancient  institutions  which  I  would 
gladly  welcome  back  amongst  us,  but  I  should  be 
happy  indeed  if  I  could  believe  that  the  commons 
and  heaths  and  wastes  of  our  rural  parishes  would 
ever  belong  again  to  their  rightful  owners. 

Aug.  10.  Beds  of  annuals  are  now  good  ;  some, 
such  as  petunias,  at  their  best.  These  are  rather 
handsome  in  mixed  colours  with  a  wide  edging  of 
white  pansies,  but  it  is  a  wonderful  thing  that  people 
do  not  oftener  grow  the  old-fashioned  pink  variety, 
which  is  almost  a  true  pink,  with  but  a  little  of  the 


H4  AUGUST 

aniline  tint  that  is  commonly  seen.  Cosmos  is 
one  of  the  newer  and  disappointing  annuals.  If 
the  flower  was  as  good  as  the  foliage  it  would  be 
excellent ;  but  the  habit  is  tall  and  straggling,  the 
flowers  are  sparse,  and  frequently  bad  in  colour, 
and  the  plant  is  unworthy  of  consideration  in  com- 
parison with  many  older  things.  An  annual  which 
is  not  yet  sufficiently  known  is  nemesia — the 
strumosa  Suttoni  variety,  which  has  hardly  a  bad 
tint  in  the  whole  of  its  range.  It  lasts  well,  too, 
and  where  a  few  varieties  of  annuals  only  can  be 
grown,  this  is  indispensable.  So  is  the  gorgeous 
phacelia  campanularia,  which  is  the  best  and  bright- 
est of  all.  Its  colour  is  the  true  gentian  blue  ;  it  is 
the  earliest  to  bloom  of  all  the  best  annuals,  and 
should  consequently  be  sown  late  if  wanted  for 
August.  I  should  like  to  grow  this  with  a  border 
of  some  pale  mauve  flower,  such  as  the  palest 
ageratum,  and  near  at  hand  I  should  have  nothing 
but  a  bed  of  white  phlox  Drummondi,  and  one  of 
pansies  of  the  faintest  maize  colour.  Blue  to  be 
seen  at  its  best  should  be  associated  with  other  cool 
colours.  Petunias,  for  instance,  would  destroy  half 
its  charm  if  they  came  too  near.  Ageratum,  on  the 
contrary,  if  sufficiently  delicate  in  tone,  would  help 
the  phacelia  on  to  the  white  phlox,  which  again 
might  lead  the  way  to  warmer  tints. 

Another  excellent  blue  flower  which  I  have 
mentioned  before  is  the  commelina  celestis,  rarely 
seen  in  gardens.  I  suppose  this  is  because  it  is, 
strictly  speaking,  a  tender  perennial,  and  as  such 
has  been  discredited  by  growers  of  hardy  flowers  ; 
but  if  treated  as  an  annual  it  is  all  that  can  be 


AUGUST  145 

desired.  We  generally  sow  the  seed  under  glass, 
and  transfer  the  seedlings  later  to  small  pots.  In 
autumn,  if  required,  the  tubers  may  be  lifted  and 
stored  in  dry  sand  under  the  greenhouse  stage, 
and  may  be  planted  out  rather  closely  together 
in  the  following  spring  ;  but  I  have  always  found 
the  best  results  from  giving  it  annual  treatment. 
The  blue  of  the  commelina  is  quite  as  good  as 
that  of  the  phacelia,  and  it  lasts  longer  in  bloom. 

Beds  of  mixed  eschscholtzias  are  always  striking 
and  fairly  continuous.  Care  must  be  taken,  how- 
ever, not  to  include  the  pretty  rose  cardinal  variety 
in  a  mixed  bed,  as  it  would  destroy  the  harmony  ; 
and  care  must  be  taken  again  to  keep  them  away 
from  all  flowers  of  a  pink  or  crimson  shade. 

Nothing  is  more  pleasing  than  good  beds  of 
stocks ;  their  sweetness  makes  them  the  most 
valuable  of  the  tender  annuals.  Marigolds  of 
various  kinds  are  useful,  but  these  differ  in  value, 
such  a  one,  for  instance,  as  the  newer  French 
variety,  Legion  of  Honour,  being  positively  harmful 
to  the  eye  in  its  outrageous  mingling  of  crimson 
and  orange.  Brown  is  the  only  possible  combina- 
tion with  the  natural  deep  yellow  of  marigolds, 
and  the  more  brown  there  is  the  greater  will  be 
the  success  of  the  bed.  But  the  humble  little 
tagetes  is  perhaps  the  most  useful  still  of  all  the 
self  oranges,  and  makes  a  handsome  show  when 
more  flaunting  things  have  yielded  to  age  and 
infirmity. 

There  is  something  in  annual  asters  to  please 
every  taste  except  one,  and  that  one  the  only 
taste  which  should  be  considered.  They  should 


I46  AUGUST 

be  abolished  from  the  gardens  of  every  lover  of 
the  beautiful.  We  could  not  in  these  days  endure 
chrysanthemums  of  such  stiff,  unpleasing  form  and 
crude  range  of  colouring ;  why  not  carry  on  the 
healthy  feeling  of  repulsion  to  the  unsatisfactory 
aster,  and  get  rid  of  it  entirely  until  growers  can 
improve  it  out  of  its  present  shape  and  tints? 
The  only  tolerable  ones  are  the  single  varieties. 
I  cannot  think  why  asters  should  be  considered 
a  necessity  of  the  garden  ;  from  the  castle  to  the 
cottage  the  summer  show  is  spoilt  by  them,  and 
when  they  are  displayed  in  mixed  beds  they  should 
set  on  edge  the  teeth  of  the  gardener  of  discern- 
ment. But  the  years  come  and  go,  and  still  they 
retain  their  supremacy  in  the  garden,  and  better 
things  are  neglected  for  them. 

Few  things  are  lovelier  than  masses  of  the  half- 
hardy  dianthus  chinensis  treated  as  an  annual. 
The  colours  are  good ;  the  tufts  are  thoroughly 
floriferous,  and  the  bloom  lasts  for  months  together. 
Yet  one  seldom  sees  them  except  as  isolated  plants. 
They  are  admirable  if  sown  in  February  and 
bedded  out  under  rose  bushes,  as  they  carry  on 
the  colour  scheme  of  the  roses,  and  keep  the  beds 
furnished. 

Zinnias,  if  used  at  all,  should  be  chosen  with 
discretion,  a  general  hotch  -  potch  mixture  being 
most  displeasing.  It  is  best  to  get  separate  packets 
of  the  yellows,  oranges,  and  whites,  and  to  mix 
them  for  one's  self,  omitting  entirely  all  of  a  pink 
or  magenta  shade.  Gardeners  go  wrong  over  these 
even  more  often  than  over  petunias,  godetias,  and 
clarkias.  Most  of  the  shades  of  these  two  last  are 


AUGUST  147 

quite  impossible  ;  the  deep  crimsons,  coral  pinks, 
and  white,  which  are  the  only  admissible  ones,  are 
usually  lost  in  a  maze  of  lilac,  magenta,  and  kindred 
tints,  which  completely  cheapen  the  value  of  the 
good  colours  amongst  them.  The  fact  that  on 
their  introduction  the  flowers  were  mainly  weak 
and  washy,  and  that  growers  consequently  became 
habituated  to  bad  shades  in  them,  should  not  make 
us  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  there  are  good  ones 
now  to  be  had,  and  that  the  bad  should  not  be 
tolerated  on  any  plea  whether  of  economy  or  over- 
sight. 

And  to  ensure  good  colours  we  must  go  to  good 
dealers.  For  the  seeds  of  perennials  this  is  a 
matter  of  less  moment  than  for  the  seeds  of 
annuals.  Many  of  the  perennials  have  no  variation 
from  the  type  colour ;  seed  from  a  penny-packet 
man  may  not  come  up,  but  if  it  comes  up  it  will 
probably  be  as  good  as  that  from  an  expensive 
place.  Of  course  there  are  many  perennials  to 
which  this  remark  would  not  apply,  but  as  a  general 
rule  it  may  stand  good.  But  with  annuals  it  is 
not  so.  Cheap  annuals  are  often  bad  annuals. 
They  are  always  bad  annuals  when  they  include 
bad  colours  in  their  range.  That  is  the  reason 
why  they  are  cheap.  In  ordering  flower  seeds  a 
very  good  plan  is  to  proceed  as  follows  : — 

Divide  your  seeds  into  two  lists ;  in  one  list 
those,  whether  annuals  or  perennials,  which  are 
represented  by  only  one  shade,  such  as  phacelia 
campanularia,  commelina  celestis,  tagetes,  and  those 
named  kinds  which  are  sold  separately,  although 
their  variety  is  not  limited  to  one  tint,  such  as 


148  AUGUST 

eschscholtzia  mandarin,  antirrhinum  snow  queen, 
and  such-like  things.  Get  these,  if  you  can,  from 
a  penny  man,  if  economy  is  an  object.  The  second 
list  should  contain  all  mixed  seeds,  as  well  as  those 
named  ones  which  the  penny  man  does  not  sell. 
Order  these  from  the  best  dealers. 

Sweet  peas  are  among  the  most  useful  of  flowers 
for  cutting  just  now.  We  sow  a  row  under  a 
south  wall  in  October  or  November,  and  from 
February  to  June  more  are  drilled  in  for  succession. 
Those  sown  in  the  autumn,  however,  often  outlast 
the  spring  ones,  and  if  the  seed  pods  are  kept 
from  forming  are  useful  well  into  the  autumn. 
The  June  planting  is  rather  flukey ;  in  a  warm 
October  you  may  pick  large  quantities,  but  in  many 
seasons  all  that  one  can  hope  to  get  from  them 
are  their  lovely  trails  of  green  to  add  to  bouquets 
of  other  flowers.  But  even  if  one  has  no  more 
than  this  from  them  the  trouble  of  sowing  is  well 
repaid. 

It  is  a  great  pity  that  growers  are  trying  to 
change  the  form  of  the  sweet  pea.  The  wings 
with  rounded  top,  which  are  taking  the  place  of  the 
old  cleft  wings,  may  be  pretty  enough,  and  at  any 
rate  the  change  in  this  respect  is  no  disadvantage. 
But  the  hooded  shape  which  these  wings  are 
assuming  through  the  efforts  of  the  specialist 
growers  is  anything  but  an  improvement.  It  can 
be  seen  at  its  very  worst  in  the  hideous  object 
called  Red  Riding  Hood,  which  was  introduced 
five  or  six  years  ago  ;  and  if  our  new  varieties 
are  to  follow  the  form  of  Red  Riding  Hood, 
I  shall  take  care  to  preserve  a  strain  of  the  good 


AUGUST  149 

old-fashioned    kinds,    even   if   they   are    inferior   in 
size  to  the  new. 

A  ug.  1 8.  I  have  cut  for  winter  bouquets  clouds 
of  the  delicate  white  gypsophila  paniculata,  statice 
latifolia,  eryngium  Oliverianum,  and  planum,  and 
the  blue  spiked  balls  of  echinops  ritro.  The  iris 
fcetida  and  the  physalis  are  not  quite  ready,  and 
must  be  cut  in  September.  A  good  mixed  bunch 
of  these,  arranged  with  trails  of  small  ivy,  looks 
very  well  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  drawing-room 
in  winter,  and  economises  other  flowers.  All  these 
are  dried  by  being  hung  upside  down  in  an  airy 
place  for  a  few  days,  after  which  the  dead  leaves 
are  stripped  off  to  make  the  stems  tidy,  and  the 
branches  are  stowed  away,  to  be  brought  out  again 
when  live  flowers  are  scarce. 

The  beauty  of  gardens  at  this  season  depends  so 
much  on  half-hardy  plants  that — as  I  have  so  few 
of  these — a  certain  bareness  is  apt  to  show  itself 
about  August.  There  is  but  little  room  in  this 
garden  for  dahlias,  cannas,  gladioli,  pelargoniums, 
and  other  tender  stuff;  besides  which  the  care  of 
many  of  these  in  winter  would  entirely  prevent 
Sterculus  from  paying  proper  attention  to  the  plants 
which  bloom  at  that  time,  and  would,  in  fact, 
occupy  our  small  greenhouse  to  their  exclusion. 
Some  friends  of  mine  with  two  or  three  excellent 
glass-houses  never  muster  a  bloom  for  their  living- 
rooms  at  mid-winter,  because  the  houses  are  given 
over  entirely  to  bedding  plants.  This  is  utterly 
wrong  in  principle.  There  are  many  flowers  with 
which  to  fill  summer  beds  without  depriving  our- 
selves of  the  use  of  greenhouses  for  their  proper 


150  AUGUST 

purpose — the  providing  of  flowers  at  a  season  when 
they  are  not  to  be  had  out  of  doors.  If  one  can 
do  everything — hardy  and  tender  plants  and  green- 
house plants  proper — well  and  good.  But  if  the 
greenhouse  room  is  limited  let  me  beg  amateurs 
to  throw  away  all  the  tender  garden  stuff  which 
litters  its  shelves.  The  keeping  of  cuttings  for 
summer  bedding  is  a  costly  and  ugly  practice  which, 
in  such  circumstances,  should  be  put  a  stop  to  at 
once.  Begonias  for  bedding  can  be  preserved 
under  the  stages ;  dahlias  will  live  through  the 
winter  in  a  warm  cellar,  cannas  and  gladioli  may  be 
hidden  away  in  odd  holes  and  corners.  But  pelar- 
goniums and  heliotropes,  and  a  dozen  other  subjects 
which  gardeners  love  to  keep  throughout  the  winter, 
should  be  got  rid  of  without  delay  unless  there 
is  room  for  them  and  for  the  winter-blooming 
flowers  too,  which  is  seldom  the  case  in  the 
amateur's  greenhouse.  Better  a  little  bareness  in 
August,  when,  at  least,  the  borders  still  supply 
large  quantities  of  flowers  for  cutting,  than  a  dearth 
of  bloom  in  December,  when  it  is  more  valuable 
than  at  any  other  time. 

In  looking  forward  to  winter's  needs  the  first 
bulbs  which  demand  potting  are  the  freesias.  If 
these  have  been  properly  attended  to  since  their 
last  blooming,  the  old  bulbs  will  be  as  good  as  any 
new  ones  could  be.  We  plant  the  first  during  the 
last  week  of  July,  and  those  for  a  succession  at  this 
time  ;  about  a  dozen  will  go  into  a  six-inch  pot,  and 
it  is  better  not  to  plunge  them,  as  is  generally 
advisable  with  bulbs,  for  the  leaf  growth  is  so 
tender  that  it  will  hardly  bear  freeing  from  the 


AUGUST  151 

material  under  which  it  may  have  been  placed. 
They  can  be  put  in  a  cold  frame  in  a  shady  aspect, 
or  under  the  greenhouse  stage,  and  should  be  given 
no  more  water  than  is  absolutely  necessary  to  keep 
them  from  drying  up.  If  the  soil  has  had  a 
moderate  amount  of  moisture  in  it  when  they  were 
planted  they  will  need  little  additional  attention 
in  this  respect.  It  is  through  mistaken  kind- 
ness in  the  matter  of  watering  that  most  of  the 
many  failures  to  grow  freesias  occur ;  too  much 
water  at  a  later  stage  of  growth  will  make  the 
leaves  turn  yellow  and  prevent  their  flowering 
well.  The  less  freesias  are  forced  also,  the  better 
they  will  be  ;  a  cool  temperature  with  protection 
from  frost  is  all  that  is  required  to  ensure  good 
results. 

There  is  nothing  more  difficult  among  common 
flowers  to  grow  well  than  the  Persian  cyclamen, 
and  I  am  able  to  say  so  with  decision,  for  I  have 
never  yet  succeeded  in  having  them  to  my  liking. 
Part  of  the  reason  is  that  I  am  away  in  the  late 
summer,  when  they  require  special  attention,  and 
another  part  is  that  I  do  not  really  understand 
them.  Of  course  I  can  get  pots  of  healthy  leaves 
and  a  sprinkling  of  flowers,  but  that  is  what  I  do 
not  care  for.  I  want  two  hundred  blossoms  to 
a  pot,  and  I  can't  get  them.  And  yet  my  plants 
appear  to  be  managed  under  suitable  conditions, 
so  that  it  is  difficult  to  understand  why  my  simple 
wants  cannot  be  gratified.  We  re-pot  them  in 
August,  giving  them  a  suitable  compost  with  a  dash 
of  soot  in  it.  The  plants  are  placed  in  cold  frames, 
and  are  carefully  protected  from  chills,  while  they 


152  AUGUST 

are  given  all  the  air  that  is  compatible  with  perfect 
safety.  They  are  dewed  over  with  a  fine  rose 
every  day,  and  watered  as  often  as  they  require 
attention,  being  plunged  in  basins  of  water  at  a 
later  stage  when  the  pots  are  full  of  roots.  They 
are  kept  free  from  insect  pests,  and  their  winter 
temperature  is  as  moderate  as  it  ought  to  be,  and 
the  result  is  complete  failure  because  it  is  not  the 
best  that  can  be  had.  As  I  watch  Sterculus  pot- 
ting them  up  and  talking  as  if  he  expected  a  fine 
show  a  few  months  later,  I  feel  a  very  hypocrite 
as  well  as  a  monster  of  incapacity,  for  I  know  that 
the  results  will  be  meagre  and  trivial  compared 
with  those  obtained  by  my  friend  whose  plants 
I  described  in  April. 

But  though  I  know  they  will  disappoint  me,  still 
I  am  very  kind  to  them,  as  well  as  to  the  other 
winter  things  from  which  I  expect  much  more  com- 
fort. All  plants  that  are  to  bloom  in  the  dark 
days  require  care  in  the  bright  weather  of  August  ; 
if  they  are  neglected  now  dearth  will  result  later. 
The  retaining  of  chrysanthemum  buds  is  as  im- 
portant as  any  other  work,  but  the  culture  of  this 
flower  is  such  a  large  subject  that  it  would  be  of 
little  use  to  attempt  to  give  instructions  for  it  in  this 
book.  There  are  several  handbooks  which  tell 
everything  that  is  necessary,  and  the  best  among 
them,  so  far  as  my  experience  goes,  is  that  by  Mr. 
W.  Wells,  of  Redhill,  the  well-known  raiser  of  these 
flowers.  There  are  some  plants  which  bloom  best 
from  terminal  buds,  and  others  which  give  better 
results  from  crown  buds,  and  to  distinguish  between 
these  does  not  come  within  the  scope  of  the 


AUGUST  153 

ordinary  garden  book.  But  a  few  general  remarks 
about  bud-retaining  may  not  be  amiss. 

During  the  month  of  August  the  gardener  will 
see  buds  forming  at  the  point  of  each  shoot,  and  in 
the  case  of  crown  buds  all  the  surrounding  shoots 
must  be  got  rid  of  if  good  blossoms  are  ex- 
pected. But  this  rubbing  away  of  superfluous 
growth  must  be  done  with  care  ;  to  attempt  it 
directly  the  bud  appears  would  be  a  process  which 
would  weaken  the  growth  of  the  flowers  ;  so  both 
bud  and  surrounding  growth  are  allowed  to  make 
a  certain  amount  of  progress  until  the  former  seems 
to  have  a  separate  existence,  when  the  unnecessary 
shoots  are  gradually  removed — one  to-day,  one  to- 
morrow, and  so  on,  thus  avoiding  a  check  to  the 
flower  bud.  We  generally  grow  three  stems  to 
a  plant,  and  three  shoots  to  each  stem  ;  each  shoot 
develops  a  flower,  and  thus  we  get  about  nine 
blossoms  to  a  plant.  Even  with  cuttings  struck 
in  March  these  come  a  very  respectable  size,  quite 
large  enough,  at  any  rate,  to  satisfy  the  amateur 
who  is  not  intent  on  showing,  for  we  can  depend  on 
their  measuring  from  five  to  nine  inches  in  diameter, 
which  is  as  large  as  is  required  for  cutting. 

The  sweet  peas  must  not  be  allowed  to  pod,  or 
the  bloom  will  come  to  a  sudden  stop  presently  ; 
every  withered  flower  is  picked  off  before  it  can  set 
seeds,  and  thus  blossoming  is  continued  over  a  long 
season.  Lilium  candidum  may  be  transplanted  if 
it  needs  a  change,  for  this  is  the  best  month  to  do 
the  work  ;  lilies  hate  root  disturbance  when  once 
they  have  thrown  up  their  foliage  in  autumn. 

Some  gardeners  are  very  successful  with  hardy 


154  AUGUST 

annuals  sown  about  the  end  of  this  month  and 
transplanted  before  the  winter  to  beds  prepared 
for  them.  Autumn-sown  annuals  such  as  these 
certainly  blossom  more  strongly  and  profusely  and 
over  a  longer  season  than  those  reserved  for  spring 
sowing,  but,  of  course,  the  difficulty  lies  in  tiding 
them  safely  through  the  frosts  of  December  and 
January,  which  may  destroy  them  utterly.  I  have 
never  made  any  serious  attempt  at  this  system, 
though  some  of  my  best  annuals  in  the  mixed 
borders  come  from  autumn-sown  seed  of  their  own 
distributing.  I  have  also  had  plants  of  candytuft 
which  have  bloomed  throughout  a  summer  and 
survived  the  following  winter,  and  have  made 
such  hard  wood  through  old  age  that  their  stems 
resembled  the  rugged  bark  of  a  young  maple 
sapling. 

Aug.  /p.  I  am  very  fond  of  dog  stories,  and 
always  read  with  much  interest  those  which  appear 
from  time  to  time  in  the  Spectator.  I  have  more 
than  once  sent  dog  stories  of  my  own  to  the  editor 
of  that  paper,  but  he  has  never  had  the  discern- 
ment to  print  them.  Jim  was  rude  enough  once 
to  suggest  that  they  were  too  good  even  for  the 
Spectator,  but  they  are  true  nevertheless.  I 
have  only  had  two  really  human  dogs  who  were 
so  absolutely  of  us  that  they  did  not  even  know 
that  they  were  dogs,  or,  if  possibly  they  knew, 
would  not  acknowledge  the  fact.  One  of  these 
was  a  mongrel  fox-terrier  named  Joe,  and  so  well 
did  he  understand  all  our  conversation  that  when 
we  did  not  wish  him  to  know  our  plans  we  were 
forced  to  speak  in  Spanish,  for  he  was  quite  good 


AUGUST 


55 


at  elementary   French.     If  we  spoke  English  the 
matter  was  hopeless. 


SMILING   BY  THE   ROADSIDE 


'  Where  are  you  driving  to-day  ?  " 

14 1  am  going  to  pay  a  call  at  Butterbridge." 

<k  Shall  you  take  le  petit  chien  ?" 

By  saying  "  le  petit  chien"  instead  of  "the  dog 


156  AUGUST 

Jim  would  imagine  that  he  was  using  all  the  neces- 
sary wiles  of  dissimulation. 

"  No,  they  don't  like  dogs.  I  must  leave  him  at 
home." 

An  hour  or  so  would  go  by,  and  our  efforts  to 
find  Joe  would  become  exasperating ;  so  in  despair 
I  would  start  to  find  le  petit  chien  waiting  for  me  a 
mile  away  smiling  by  the  roadside.  He  always 
smiled  when  he  had  got  the  better  of  me,  but  I  only 
once  heard  him  laugh  aloud.  On  that  occasion  I 
had  taken  him  to  the  tennis-club  ground,  as  I  often 
had  done  before  without  being  reproved  by  the 
secretary.  But  the  next  day  was  to  witness  the 
beginning  of  the  annual  tournament,  and  the  secre- 
tary thought  it  his  duty  to  deliver  himself  of  a 
warning  concerning  Joe. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  mustn't  bring  Joe  to-morrow," 
he  said — the  dog  listening  hard  the  while  ;  "there's 
a  fine  of  half  a  guinea  on  tournament  days." 

Of  course  I  promised  that  he  should  not  appear, 
and  presently  when  we  came  away  I  called  him, 
and  he  followed  me  as  far  as  the  gate  like  the  most 
obedient  of  dogs.  But  I  saw  him  no  more  until  the 
next  afternoon,  when,  on  reaching  the  ground,  we 
were  met  at  the  gate  by  Joe,  whose  little  neck  was 
craned  out  looking  for  us.  He  had  hidden  all 
night  in  the  pavilion,  and  the  secretary  had  not 
had  the  heart  in  the  morning  to  dislodge  him. 

He  was,  generally  speaking,  an  admirably  be- 
haved little  dog,  but  on  one  occasion  he  gave  vent 
to  a  spirit  of  revenge  quite  human  in  its  wickedness. 
He  went  with  us  to  stay  with  an  aunt,  and  one 
morning  when  we  had  promised  him  a  walk,  she, 


AUGUST 


157 


for  some  good  reason,  thought  it  best  that  he  should 
not  accompany  us,  and  shut  him  up  with  herself  in 
the  drawing-room.  When  his  rage  had  apparently 
abated  she  let  him  out  of  the  room,  thinking  that 


A   CAP   IN   SHREDS 


all  would  now  be  right.  Little  did  she  know  Joe. 
He  went  straight  up  to  her  bedroom,  mounted  a 
chair  to  reach  the  toilet  table,  and  presently  brought 
her  best  cap  downstairs,  laying  it  at  her  feet  in 
shreds. 

His  end  was  sad.     One  unhappy  day  he  followed 


158  AUGUST 

Jim  when  he  was  going  for  a  few  hours  to  Oxford, 
jumping  into  the  train  with  him  just  as  it  was  on 
the  point  of  starting.  He  was  lost  in  the  High 
Street,  evidently  through  following  the  wrong  cab. 
He  would  be  twenty-two  years  old  if  he  were  still 
alive,  but  I  have  never  ceased  to  miss  him,  and 
none  of  my  many  other  dogs  have  taken  his  place 
in  my  affections. 

Aug.  jo.  There  are  days  when  one  wakes  up 
with  the  mind  "oppressed,"  as  it  seems,  "with  the 
burden  of  an  unintelligible  world."  Very  often  this 
comes  from  a  kind  of  unconscious  prescience  of  evil, 
such  as  a  visit  from  the  rate-collector  or  some  other 
uncomfortable  person.  To-day,  for  instance,  I  have 
been  haunted  by  such  an  unaccountable  woe,  and 
not  until  evening  was  it  explained  by  a  call  from 
the  Converted  Camberwell  Cadger.  I  came  upon 
him  unexpectedly  as  I  was  going  out  into  the 
garden,  so  there  was  no  escaping  my  fate.  I  could 
hardly  say  "Not  at  home"  to  a  Camberwell  Cadger 
who  was  staring  me  actually  in  the  face.  Words 
cannot  describe  how  for  twelve  long  months  I  have 
dreaded  this  meeting.  The  consciousness  of  guilt 
has  weighed  me  down  until  at  times  life  has  not 
seemed  worth  living  while  I  had  so  pitiful  a  secret 
locked  up  in  my  bosom.  But  now  that  I  have 
broken  the  silence  in  part  to  my  diary,  I  will  go  on 
and  reveal  the  whole  sad  story,  in  the  hope  that 
with  confession  peace  may  once  more  come  back 
to  me. 

It  was  just  a  year  ago  that  I  was  bicycling  back 
from  a  garden-party  when,  on  our  village  green,  I 
came  upon  a  temperance  van,  from  which  the 


AUGUST  159 

Camberwell  Cadger  was  holding  forth  in  im- 
passioned Cocknese.  A  good  many  rustics  were 
gathered  round  him,  and  I  have  certainly  never 
heard  a  more  moving  orator  than  this  dirty  little 
man  who  shouted  his  gospel  of  virtue  at  a  spell- 


A   MOVING   ORATOR 


bound  audience.  I  can't  deny  that  some  of  his 
arguments  went  home  to  me  too ;  for  instance, 
when  he  talked — with  a  leer  in  the  tail  of  his  eye— 
of  those  whose  education  and  position  should  make 
them  show  a  good  example  to  their  ignorant 
brothers  and  sisters  ;  of  those  whose  self-indulgent 
habits  would  not  allow  them  to  deny  themselves,  to 


160  AUGUST 

help  weaker  vessels  to  get  to  the  surface — when  he 
said  these  things  with  desperate  intent  to  secure  my 
help  in  his  mission,  I  must  say  I  felt  rather  guilty. 
He  was  terribly  in  earnest,  and  one  of  the  worst  of 
the  village  topers  was  hovering  round  his  rickety 
ladder,  uncertain  whether  to  sign  or  not  to  sign. 
Well  it  did  not  seem  a  great  hardship  to  give  up 
my  daily  small  allowance  of  wine,  so  in  the  end  I 
went  up  those  steps  and  signed  the  pledge,  the 
village  toper  following  in  my  footsteps. 

I  went  home  with  a  slight  feeling  of  shame  mixed 
with  a  certain  amount  of  satisfaction  in  my  virtue. 
When  I  broke  the  news  to  Jim  he  gave  way  to 
unusual  laughter  and  called  me  names.  He  said 
we  had  been  wanting  in  village  idiots  since  Aunty 
Green  died,  but  that  her  place  was  filled  at  last 
with  the  real  article.  I  watched  him  drinking  his 
claret  with  much  affected  gusto,  and  thought  it  very 
hateful  of  him  that  he  did  not  offer  to  give  up  his 
glass  now  that  I  had  given  up  mine.  The  Cadger 
had  called  it  "giving  up  the  glass,"  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  Jim  was  acting  selfishly  in  sticking 
to  his.  The  next  day  at  dinner-time  he  told  me 
that  he  had  just  seen  Bill  Reynolds  (the  converted 
toper  who  had  signed  the  pledge  with  me)  reeling 
home  from  the  village  inn. 

Things  went  on  like  this  for  nearly  a  month.  I 
could  not  eat  my  meals  without  the  modest  glass  of 
claret  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed,  and  when 
they  were  finished  I  was  uneasy.  I  used  to  think 
of  the  Eton  boy  who  complained  that  his  cold 
chicken  "got  in  front  and  hurt."  Every  day  I 
watched  Jim  as  he  filled  his  glass,  and  every  day  I 


AUGUST  161 

came  nearer  to  thinking  that  I  was  indeed  qualified 
to  fill  the  place  of  Aunty  Green.  Sometimes  I 
even  wept  a  little,  but  ''all  tears  are  not  for  sorrow." 
Then  at  last  came  the  doctor,  and  I  was  restored  to 
my  vicious,  comfortable  habits  by  medical  order. 

I  must  confess  that  to-day,  when  I  found  that 
the  Camberwell  Cadger  was  on  the  doorstep,  and 
remembered  in  one  vivid  moment  the  tale  of  back- 
sliding which  he  would  have  to  hear,  I  murmured 
that  he  would  like  to  see  Mr.  Clifford,  and  ushered 
him  quickly  into  Jim's  study  with  a  long  face,  in 
which  I  knew  his  quick  eye  would  read  pleading— 
and  then  I  fled.  Jim  understood,  as  he  always 
understands  ;  and  ten  minutes  later  I  saw  the 
Cadger  depart  with  a  jaunty  step  and  a  chinking  of 
the  pocket,  and  I  knew  that  the  cause  at  any  rate 
was  a  gainer  by  my  fall.  "  The  gods  sell  all  things 
at  a  price " ;  the  price  in  this  instance  was  my 
priceless  self-respect,  the  want  of  which  impels  me 
to  flee  to  the  garden's  deepest  recesses  at  the  very 
name  of  the  Camberwell  Cadger. 


M 


SEPTEMBER 

Sept.  r  I  ^  H  E  first  work  of  September  is  the  pro- 
7-  JL  pagating  of  roses  from  cuttings.  Those 
bushes  which  the  salesmen  supply  are  usually 
worked  on  a  foreign  stock,  which  enables  them 
to  make  a  larger  growth  than  own-root  plants  could 
do  in  a  given  time  ;  and  the  nuisance  never  abates 
of  keeping  an  eye  on  the  stock  to  prevent  the 
rising  of  wild  wood.  But  roses  on  their  own 
roots,  though  they  take  a  year  or  so  longer  than 
the  others  to  make  good  plants,  never  afterwards 
give  any  trouble,  and  it  is  well  worth  while  either 
to  pay  extra  money  for  these  or  to  propagate  them 
for  one's  self.  There  is  no  comparison  between  the 
two  methods  for  lasting  results.  If  a  hard  winter 
kills  to  the  ground  the  roses  struck  from  cuttings, 
their  root  growth  will  ensure  their  sending  up  in 
the  spring  fresh  shoots  to  take  their  place,  instead 
of  the  shoots  of  the  parent  brier.  The  rose  struck 
from  the  cutting  is  naturally  balanced  in  proper 
proportion  ;  its  root  growth  keeps  pace  with  its  top 
growth.  There  is  no  great  show  of  the  latter  to 
the  weakening  of  the  former,  for  the  accession  of 
strength  in  both  is  gradual  and  rightly  balanced 
and  equally  progressive.  The  period  of  waiting 

162 


SEPTEMBER  163 

for  results  is  the  period  of  development  of  the 
plant  in  one  respect  as  in  another,  without  any 
suffering  at  the  root  to  make  the  top  showy. 

The  wood  chosen  for  striking  should  be  that 
of  the  current  season,  and  of  early  growth,  so  that 
it  shall  be  perfectly  firm  without  being  old.  The 
cuttings  may  range  in  length  from  four  to  eight 
inches,  with  one  eye  or  perhaps  two  to  show  above 
the  ground  when  planted.  The  land  must  be  well 
dug  and  properly  firmed  again,  and  plenty  of  sharp 
sand  should  be  incorporated  with  it.  A  trench 
should  be  made  of  the  right  depth  to  receive  the 
cuttings,  and  these  should  be  laid  at  a  distance  of 
three  or  four  inches  apart ;  a  second  row  about  six 
inches  from  the  first,  and  so  on  until  all  are  planted. 
The  following  winter  they  may  be  protected  by 
a  covering  of  natural  material,  such  as  leaves,  and 
the  next  summer  they  must  be  stopped  when  they 
require  it,  and  not  allowed  to  flower,  so  that  in 
twelve  months  from  the  time  of  striking  they  will 
be  fair  plants  on  their  own  roots,  and  ready  for 
planting,  if  necessary,  in  their  permanent  beds. 
They  will  not  be  full  grown  for  two  or  three  years 
to  come,  but  the  time  of  waiting  will  be  one  of 
progress,  and  the  ultimate  results  will  be  of  the 
best. 

This  is  the  most  suitable  month  for  taking  cut- 
tings of  many  other  plants  besides  roses,  and 
although  I  have  not  much  to  do  in  that  respect, 
there  is  always  a  certain  amount  which  requires 
attention.  I  have  never  grown  the  larger  kinds  of 
calceolaria,  but  the  common  yellow  one  seems  to  be 
a  necessity  as  well  as  a  perennial  source  of  anxiety 


1 64  SEPTEMBER 

to  many  of  my  gardening  friends.  The  cuttings 
taken  in  September  or  October  are,  as  a  rule, 
planted  in  a  cold  frame  and  left  to  themselves  to  live 
or  to  die  according  as  the  winter  is  mild  or  severe. 
In  May  those  that  remain  are  bedded  out  behind 
geraniums,  and  are  shortly  after  seen  to  wither 
away,  scorched  by  the  summer  sun  or  parched  from 
lack  of  moisture.  There  is  only  one  remedy,  and 
that  is  shade.  Calceolarias  like  shade,  and  whether 
in  cold  frames  or  in  the  border  do  better  if  partially 
protected  from  the  sun,  which  robs  their  root  fibres 
of  that  moisture  which  is  vital  to  the  growth  of  the 
tender  foliage.  No  doubt  the  cuttings  must  be 
kept  free  from  too  much  moisture  during  their 
winter  sojourn  in  the  frame,  or  they  will  damp  off; 
but  when  once  started  into  growth  in  the  sheltered 
border  they  will  thrive  the  better  the  cooler  their 
position  is.  It  is  wise  to  take  cuttings  in  the  early 
weeks  of  September  to  give  them  time  to  strike 
freely  and  make  sufficient  growth  to  enable  them 
to  withstand  hard  weather.  When  this  comes  they 
should  be  covered  up  close  under  a  heap  of  straw 
or  fern  or  mats,  being  given  ventilation  as  the 
weather  permits  ;  and  when  the  days  get  longer, 
and  spring  has  set  in,  they  should  be  well  watered 
when  they  require  it,  and  allowed  plenty  of  air 
during  the  day.  When  planting  time  comes  they 
must  be  moved  with  a  ball  of  earth  round  them 
as  big  as  a  fist  and  planted  in  wet  holes,  the  earth 
being  afterwards  rammed  well  round  the  roots.  If 
the  moving  is  done  by  the  middle  of  May,  which 
is  by  no  means  too  early  in  a  southern  garden,  and 
if  they  are  kept  sheltered  from  sun  and  frost  until 


SEPTEMBER  165 

they  are  established,  the  results  will  be  all  that  is 
possible,  taking  into  consideration  the  fact  that  they 
are  merely  calceolarias. 

The  hybrid  pentstemons  and  various  other  plants 
may  also  be  treated  in  this  way.  In  the  case  of 
pentstemons  the  old  plants  will  sometimes  withstand 
the  winter,  and  make  large  clumps  the  following 
year ;  but  almost  as  often  as  not  they  die,  and 
young  plants  must  be  ready  to  replace  them. 
There  are  few  things  better  in  a  garden  than 
these  pentstemons  ;  their  colour  is  excellent,  their 
habit  admirable,  and  their  blooming  persistent. 
By  removing  the  seed-pods  as  they  form,  a  good 
show  can  be  had  from  July  to  November. 

Petunia  tries  my  patience  more  every  year  that 
she  grows  older.  How  old  is  she  now  ?  Certainly 
not  under  six-and-twenty,  and  yet  she  has  not 
learnt  common  propriety.  To-day  she  turned  up 
at  luncheon-time  with  a  young  man  on  whom  I 
had  never  before  set  eyes,  she  blushing  up  to  her 
hair  and  he  looking  as  hideously  miserable  as  any 
lover  could  look.  Of  course  I  was  delighted  to 
see  him,  for  I  guessed  at  once  who  he  was,  and 
as  Petunia  seemed  smitten  with  dumbness  on  her 
entrance,  and  delayed  to  introduce  her  friend,  I 
could  do  no  less  than  give  him  a  welcome  without 
her  aid.  I  smiled  my  sweetest  smile — as  a  young 
gentleman  of  my  acquaintance  with  a  cavernous 
mouth  is  fond  of  saying — and  murmured,  with  a 
friendly  hand  outstretched— 

u  How  do  you  do?  I  am  sure  you  must  be 
Mr.  Mumby!" 

Petunia's  colour  had  been  vivid  enough   before, 


1 66  SEPTEMBER 

but  now  it  became  of  a  full  sunset  copper  hue. 
She  said  very  stiffly,  "  I  thought  you  knew  my 
cousin,  Mr.  Jervis,"  and  I  tried  to  beam  a  second 
welcome  no  less  hearty  than  the  first  while  wrath 
was  at  my  heart.  No  one  but  Petunia  would  have 
placed  me  in  so  awkward  a  predicament,  and  the 
unreasonable  creature  presently  blamed  me  for  the 
terrible  moment  instead  of  confessing  that  it  had 
been  of  her  own  making. 

o 

Petunia  professes  that  here  at  last  is  the  real 
Mr.  Mumby,  and  has  the  incredible  hypocrisy  to 
try  to  persuade  me  that  there  has  never  really 
been  any  other.  I  do  not  profess  to  follow  the 
tortuous  windings  of  her  love  affairs  as  clearly  as 
might  be  desired,  but  I  do  maintain  that  I  could 
not  possibly  have  got  the  name  of  Mumby  down 
in  my  mental  notes  unless  there  had  been  some 
reason  for  it.  However,  she  was  not  to  be 
appeased  to-day  by  my  efforts  at  self-justification, 
although  I  did  my  best  to  make  things  pleasant 
by  assuring  her  that  Jervis  was  a  much  prettier 
name  than  Mumby,  and  that  she  was  quite  right 
to  change  her  mind  if  only  for  this  reason.  She 
kissed  me  very  coldly  when  she  wished  me  good- 
bye, and  said  she  was  afraid  she  should  not  be 
able  to  come  again  for  some  time,  which  might 
have  been  distressing,  for  I  am  genuinely  fond  of 
Petunia.  But  there  is  a  good  deal  to  do  in  the 
garden,  and  the  days  are  shortening  already,  so 
that  possibly  'tis  best  so. 

How  exceedingly  tiresome  are  people  who  ought 
to  fall  in  love,  and  will  not.  And  how  worse  than 
tiresome  are  those  who  fall  in  love  with  persons 


MY   COUSIN,    MR.   JERVIS  " 


SEPTEMBER  169 

who  have  not  the  remotest  intention  of  falling  in 
love  with  them.  Here  is  an  example.  Magdalen 
loves  Jim,  who  cares  not  for  her,  nor,  like  Rosalind, 
for  any  woman.  Petunia  loves  Mr.  Mumby  (or 
some  one  of  whom  Mr.  Mumby  may  stand  as  a 
type),  who,  so  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  has  never 
bestowed  a  thought  upon  Petunia.  If  Jim  would 
love  Petunia,  who  is  craving  for  affection,  all 
would  be  well.  Of  course  I  would  rather  he 
loved  Magdalen,  but  that  does  not  seem  a  likely 
consummation,  and  as  a  second  best  I  choose 
Petunia.  As  things  stand  at  present,  then,  Mr. 
Mumby  does  not  love  Petunia,  who  in  his  default 
would  quite  willingly  put  up  with  the  affection  of 
Jim,  who  cares  no  jot  for  Magdalen  who  adores 
him.  I  believe  there  was  a  certain  French  philo- 
sopher who  discovered  that  it  takes  three  to  make 
a  pair  of  lovers — "  Us  ont  bien  tort  qui  disent  qu'il 
ne  faut  que  deux  pour  faire  1'amour ;  il  faut  au 
moins  trois."  I  should  be  inclined  to  go  further, 
and  to  declare  that  it  takes  four  to  spoil  two  good 
matches.  And  so  life  in  its  contrariety  goes  on. 

Magdalen  comes  here  and  looks  through  Jim,  as 
if  he  was  merely  a  rather  boring  feature  in  the 
landscape.  Jim  goes  to  the  Manor,  and  half  the 
time  he  is  there  he  literally  does  not  know  whether 
Magdalen  is  present  or  not.  That,  at  least,  is  the 
impression  left  upon  me  as  an  observer  of  my 
fellow-men,  and  so  far  as  Jim's  unconsciousness 
is  concerned,  I  am  convinced  that  I  am  not  in 
error.  Magdalen's  attitude  is,  of  course,  a  pose, 
simply  because  she  is  a  woman,  and  posing  is  her 
safety.  A  man  who  has  feelings  to  hide  can  take 


1 70  SEPTEMBER 

refuge  in  silence,  but  so  cannot  a  woman.  Silence 
is  self-betrayal,  and  a  pose  is  her  haven  of  refuge. 
Jim's  silence  cannot  be  interpreted,  because  he  has 
a  taciturn  habit  and  would  be  equally  silent  whether 
he  had  anything  to  conceal  or  no.  Magdalen's 
silence  would  mean  much.  But  even  a  woman's 
pose  is  no  rampart  against  another  woman,  though 
impregnable  to  a  man,  so  that  in  any  event 
Magdalen  has  little  chance  of  hiding  herself  from 
me.  But  as  I  am  only  an  onlooker  I  do  not 
count. 

The  time  may  come  when  a  man  will  understand 
a  woman  so  well  that  it  will  not  be  worth  her  while 
to  pose  for  him.  But  so  long  as  the  economic  con- 
dition of  woman  is  as  it  is,  so  long  will  it  be  detri- 
mental to  her  to  be  understood.  She  has  more  to 
gain  by  remaining  a  mystery.  The  day  of  perfect 
equality  for  the  sexes  in  economic  matters  is  as  yet 
dim  aeonian  periods  away,  and  perfect  freedom  can 
come  only  with  perfect  equality.  With  freedom 
truth  and  sincerity  will  display  themselves  without 
fear  of  shame  or  detriment.  But  that  happy  time 
will  probably  never  arrive  to  woman  on  our  planet, 
and  in  the  meanwhile  Magdalen  in  common  with 
the  rest  of  her  sex  poses. 

If  only  she  would  show  Jim  that  she  cares  one 
jot  about  him,  it  might  suggest  to  him  the  possi- 
bility of  his  caring  for  her.  He  is  merely  stupid, 
a  fault  not  his  own,  but  of  his  sex. 

Sept.  j.  Hardy  bulbs  are  the  mainstay  and  the 
joy  of  the  winter  gardener.  They  are,  speaking 
generally,  certain  bloomers,  and  they  are  almost 
independent  of  favourable  conditions.  Even  a  few 


SEPTEMBER  171 

degrees  of  frost  will  leave  them  unharmed.  All 
they  ask  is  that  their  treatment  shall  be  reasonably 
careful,  and  I  will  give  as  shortly  as  possible  the 
rules  I  have  found  most  convenient  for  potting  and 
flowering  these  valuable  things  under  glass. 

There  are  many  persons  of  limited  means — and 
many  also  of  large  means — who  grudge  the  money 
necessary  for  bulbs  more  than  they  grudge  any 
other  garden  expenditure.  Bulbs  are  considered 
an  extravagance,  and  a  gardener  who  spends  a 
sovereign  or  two  on  them  is  a  wastrel  in  the  last 
degree.  This  feeling  must  be  a  survival  of  the 
days  not  long  departed  when  bulbs  were  a  costly 
luxury.  This  is  not  so  now.  Many  beautiful  things 
can  be  had  at  a  farthing  apiece,  or  even  less,  and 
I  have  bought  good  flowering  bulbs  of  the  lovely 
daffodil  Cynosure  at  exactly  half  that  price.  The 
sooner  the  idea  is  abandoned  that  hardy  bulbs  in 
the  greenhouse  are  not  for  the  ordinary  grower  the 
better.  There  is  nothing  else  in  cultivation  so  suit- 
able for  the  amateur  in  every  respect,  and  for  the 
months  of  January  and  February  they  are  indis- 
pensable. There  is  nothing  that  can  take  their 
place,  although  there  are  many  things  that  may  be 
grown  in  addition  to  them.  I  am  speaking  to  the 
amateur  who  loves  his  garden,  but  has  to  be  careful 
in  his  expenditure,  when  I  put  forward  regarding 
this  expenditure  a  word  of  advice.  Reckon  up 
what  yearly  sum  you  spend  or  are  prepared  to 
spend  on  your  flower  garden,  whether  in  plants  or 
in  seeds,  and  then  let  three-quarters  of  that  sum  be 
laid  out  in  bulbs  for  the  greenhouse.  If  the  garden 
without  is  of  the  herbaceous  order  very  few  plants 


i;2  SEPTEMBER 

should  be  required  to  keep  up  the  stock  ;  a  few 
packets  of  seeds  in  the  spring  will  do  what  is  abso- 
lutely needed,  and  the  bulbs  which  come  out  of  the 
greenhouse  in  March  will,  if  turned  into  the  ground, 
form  a  future  provision  for  the  open-air  supply. 
No  others  need  be  bought  for  this  purpose,  for  in 
a  few  years'  time  the  greenhouse  will  have  yielded 
up  as  many  as  are  wanted  for  the  garden.  If  a 
five-pound  note  therefore  is  to  be  devoted  to  the 
supply  of  flowers,  let  two-thirds  of  this  amount  be 
spent  on  bulbs  ;  if  only  a  guinea  is  available,  quite 
fifteen  shillings  should  be  devoted  to  their  purchase, 
a  few  pence  to  a  packet  of  primula  seed,  and  a  few 
more  pence  to  cineraria  seed.  I  am  taking  it  for 
granted  that  the  garden  is  fairly  well  stocked 
already,  and  that  the  greenhouse  possesses  such 
necessary  plants  as  zonal  pelargoniums,  cyclamens, 
chrysanthemums,  calla  Richardias,  and  other  peren- 
nial things. 

The  potting  soil  for  bulbs  should  not  be  heavy. 
If  any  directions  are  wanted  for  proportions,  the 
following  is  a  good  average  rule  : — Take  one  part 
good  leaf  soil,  one  part  well-rotted  manure  from  an 
old  hot-bed,  one  part  coarse  sand,  and  one  part  turf 
mould  that  has  been  cut  from  a  meadow  at  least 
a  year  previously.  But  bulbs  are  generous  doers, 
and  if  only  their  soil  is  not  too  heavy  they  will  be 
likely  to  thrive  well,  even  if  their  results  are  not  fit 
for  the  show  table. 

Easily  first  among  bulbs  for  the  greenhouse  come 
the  white  Roman  hyacinths.  They  are  not  so  cheap 
as  they  ought  to  be,  but  they  are  nevertheless  indis- 
pensable. They  can  be  potted  in  September,  and 


SEPTEMBER  173 

these  and  all  the  hardy  bulbs  now  to  be  mentioned 
must  be  plunged  under  a  suitable  covering  in  their 
earliest  stage.  I  prefer  peat  from  a  heathy  wood, 
sifted  to  get  rid  of  the  coarse  pieces,  but  sand  will 
do  quite  as  well.  Ashes  should  not  be  used,  as 
they  sometimes  give  out  poisonous  gases  which 
spoil  the  bulbs.  The  boxes  or  pots  may  be  placed 
close  together  in  the  open,  and  then  covered  with  at 
least  four  inches  of  the  plunging  material. 

If  the  amateur  has  only  a  dozen  Roman  hyacinths 
they  may  be  planted  in  three  five-inch  pots,  and 
treated  as  follows  : — When  they  have  been  plunged 
for  five  or  six  weeks  they  should  be  examined  to 
see  if  they  have  rooted,  and  if  the  roots  are  getting 
fairly  strong  the  pots  may  be  put  in  a  cold  frame 
for  two  or  three  more  weeks.  Where  so  few  are 
grown  there  is  no  object  in  having  them  too  early, 
and  they  will  be  all  the  better  for  being  kept  out  of 
the  greenhouse  for  a  little  time,  unless  the  weather 
is  cold.  They  can  be  removed  to  the  stage  and 
brought  on  for  any  date  that  they  may  be  wanted. 
The  gardener,  on  the  other  hand,  who  has  a 
hundred  or  more  may  plant,  perhaps,  thirty  or 
fifty  closely  together  in  a  box,  moving  them  to 
the  greenhouse  when  rooted,  and  they  will  bloom 
in  November.  The  rest  can  be  potted  or  boxed  as 
required,  and  a  succession  thus  ensured.  But  they 
will  not  consent  to  be  kept  back  so  long  as  one 
could  wish,  and  for  late  January  and  February 
one  can  have  the  white  or  blue  Italians,  both  of 
which  are  very  beautiful,  though  not  quite  so 
early  as  the  Romans.  At  the  same  time  as  these 
hyacinths  may  be  potted  or  boxed  the  paper  white 


174  SEPTEMBER 

and  the  double  Roman  narcissi,  and  their  treatment 
may  be  identical  with  that  of  the  others.  They 
take  rather  longer  than  the  hyacinths  in  coming 
to  their  flowering  time.  The  gardener  need  not 
be  afraid  to  plant  closely  if  economy  of  space  is 
an  object.  The  bulbs  may  touch  each  other,  and 
will  take  no  harm,  provided  that  they  get  sufficient 
water  after  they  are  removed  from  the  plunge. 
A  sprinkling  once  or  twice  of  Clay's  or  some  other 
fertiliser  when  they  begin  to  show  bud  will  correct 
any  evils  which  close  planting  may  have  appeared 
to  threaten. 

The  above-named  bulbs,  if  potted  early  and 
grown  on  in  a  warm  greenhouse,  but  not  placed 
over  a  stove,  may  be  relied  on  for  bloom  from 
the  end  of  November  to  mid-January,  after  which 
date  other  later  kinds  must,  for  the  main  supply, 
take  their  place.  The  chief  points  to  ensure 
success  are  a  sufficiently  protracted  plunge  in  the 
open,  to  encourage  root-growth  before  top-growth 
begins,  an  ample  supply  of  water,  and  a  comfortably 
warmed  greenhouse. 

The  next  bulbs  to  think  of  are  the  Harris  lilies, 
from  which  many  people  fail  to  get  satisfactory 
blooms.  Sometimes  the  bulbs  refuse  to  start  into 
life,  and  sometimes  they  rot  and  disappear  before 
they  can  attain  any  growth  worth  considering.  Yet 
they  are  by  no  means  difficult  to  grow  if  one  goes 
the  right  way  to  work  with  them.  They  should 
be  potted  as  soon  as  they  come,  in  five-inch  or  six- 
inch  pots,  and  taken  under  cover  when  top-growth 
begins.  If  they  shrivel  before  potting  they  lose 
something  of  their  vigour.  To  allow  for  top-dressing 


SEPTEMBER  175 

in  their  later  stages  the  soil  should  be  no  nearer 
than  an  inch  to  the  top  of  the  pot,  and  the  crown 
of  the  bulb  may  be  about  the  same  distance  below 
the  surface  of  the  soil,  which  should  have  plenty 
of  sand  in  it,  and  if  convenient  some  leaf  mould 
also.  Those  bulbs  which  are  the  strongest  will 
generally  be  the  first  to  start,  and  the  weaker 
ones  will  be  later,  so  that,  broadly  speaking,  their 
value  for  the  future  may  be  gauged  by  their  willing- 
ness to  shoot.  When  top-growth  has  begun  they 
must  have  plenty  of  light,  and  should  be  kept  close 
to  the  glass,  or  they  will  become  uncomfortably 
tall.  As  they  get  to  maturity  they  will  be  attacked 
by  aphis,  but  the  horror  of  this  and  other  insect 
pests  departed  with  the  invention  of  the  X-L  All 
fumigator.  There  need  not  be  so  much  as  a  spider 
in  the  greenhouse  in  these  happy  days. 

It  is  no  use  to  grudge  the  spending  of  money 
over  Harris  lilies ;  the  most  expensive  must  be 
bought,  for  good  ones  cannot  be  had  cheap.  The 
best  I  ever  saw  were  grown  in  an  amateur's  green- 
house of  the  very  smallest  dimensions ;  they  bore 
from  ten  to  thirteen  blooms  on  a  stem,  and  the 
happy  grower  of  them  had  given  carte  blanche  to 
Messrs.  Protheroe  and  Morris  to  send  him  from 
their  auction-rooms  the  finest  bulbs  that  could  be 
had,  irrespective  of  price.  Harris  lilies  will  bear 
a  considerable  amount  of  forcing  if  required,  but 
the  ordinary  gardener  will  flower  them  in  March 
and  April. 

The  bulk  of  winter  bulbs  may  be  planted  either 
in  September  or  in  October,  as  best  suits  the 
gardener.  I  think  the  wisest  plan  is  to  get  them 


1 76  SEPTEMBER 

all  in  early,  and  keep  them  plunged  in  the  open 
as  long  as  possible.  This  secures  sufficient  root 
growth  before  the  frosts  begin,  and  the  flowers  are 
likely  to  come  all  the  better  for  the  slower  growing. 
In  any  case  these  later  bulbs  require  a  much  longer 
time  in  the  dark  than  the  earlier  ones,  and  three 
months  is  hardly  too  long  for  them,  though  it  may 
be  too  long  for  the  gardener's  patience.  A  little 
care  will  keep  up  a  succession  from  mid- January  to 
mid- March  without  any  special  difficulty.  Some  of 
these  later  bulbs  are,  like  all  the  earlier,  absolutely 
essential  to  the  well-being  of  the  flower-lover,  and 
however  little  there  may  be  to  spend,  a  few  of  them 
must  be  bought  as  well  as  those  I  have  already  enu- 
merated. Afterwards  I  will  mention  others  which 
give  a  distinct  joy  to  existence,  but  which  neverthe- 
less may  be  dispensed  with  if  strict  economy  is 
necessary. 

A  flat  earthen  seed-pan  about  a  foot  in  diameter 
will  comfortably  hold  twenty-five  crocus  bulbs,  of 
which  Mont  Blanc  or  the  common  yellow  will  give 
as  much  satisfaction  as  any  costlier  sorts. 

Tulips  for  early  bloom  should  be  the  scarlet  Due 
Van  Tholl,  and  for  succession  nothing  is  better 
than  double  Tournesol,  single  yellow  Chrysolora, 
and  the  white  La  Reine  with  a  pink  flake.  I  have 
often  bought  these  for  eighteenpence  the  hundred, 
but  there  has  been  so  much  demand  for  them  of 
late  for  forcing  that  the  price  has  gone  up.  Rose 
Blanche,  double  white,  and  Yellow  Rose,  double 
yellow,  will  follow  the  mid-season  kinds.  Let  not 
the  bulb  grower  be  persuaded  to  buy  La  Candeur 
in  place  of  Rose  Blanche,  for  the  green  and 


SEPrEMBER  177 

shrivelled  outer  petals  of  the  older  variety  make  it 
compare  very  unfavourably  with  its  rival. 

And  now  an  important  hint  with  regard  to  tulips 
raised  under  glass.  Everyone  who  grows  them  has 
stamped  with  rage  to  see  their  beautiful  blossoms 
withering  away  while  yet  hidden  by  the  leaves. 
Tulips  do  not  like  this  unnatural  method  of  grow- 
ing in  greenhouses,  and  they  turn  sulky  in 
consequence.  But  if,  when  taken  from  the  plunge, 
they  are  placed  in  a  subdued  light  under  the  stage 
till  they  begin  to  grow  lanky,  their  mischievous 
habit  will  be  thwarted,  and  the  gardener  will 
rejoice. 

Scilla  sibirica  may  be  grown  like  the  crocuses, 
closely  planted  in  a  seed-pan,  but  many  more  squills 
than  crocuses  will  be  required  to  make  a  good  show, 
as  the  bulbs  are  smaller.  These  lovely  little  true- 
blue  things  continue  to  throw  up  spike  after  spike 
of  bloom,  so  that,  although  there  may  be  no  great 
show  at  any  one  time,  the  pan  will  be  decorative 
for  weeks.  Some  bright  green  wood  moss  may 
carpet  it,  but  the  best  use  of  these  flowers  will  be 
indicated  in  a  subsequent  paragraph. 

I  have  kept  to  the  last  the  list  of  narcissi,  these 
joys  of  mid-winter,  which  please  me  both  indoors 
and  out  better  than  any  other  hardy  bulbs.  It  is 
very  important  to  make  a  good  selection  of  them. 
The  polyanthus  narcissus,  which  are  the  least 
charming,  cannot  be  dispensed  with  any  more  than 
the  others.  Some  of  the  finest,  though  not  the 
best  from  my  point  of  view,  are  Bazelman  Major 
and  Grand  Monarque,  but  the  former  is  an  un- 
certain bloomer,  and  the  latter  shares  with  it, 

N 


1 78  SEPTEMBER 

though  in  another  way,  the  disadvantage  of  sparse 
flowering.  It  throws  only  one  stem  of  flowers 
from  each  bulb,  so  that  it  is  far  more  satisfactory 
to  buy  Mont  Cenis,  which,  if  a  somewhat  smaller 
flower,  is  better  in  habit,  and  three  or  four  times  as 
floriferous.  Sweet-scented  jonquils  must  not  be 
over  forced  ;  if  placed  in  a  hot  place  they  go  blind. 
Obvallaris,  the  Tenby  daffodil,  is  an  early  kind,  and 
to  follow  it  I  should  choose  of  singles,  poeticus 
ornat^ls,  the  early  form  of  the  pheasant's  eye ; 
Leedsii  amabilis^  a  lovely  cream  and  primrose 
flower ;  incomparabilis  Cynosure  with  pale  perianth 
and  bright  orange-stained  cup.  Of  doubles,  the 
yellow  incomparabilis,  or  the  Van  Sion,  and  the 
delightful  old  Orange  Phoenix,  known  as  Eggs  and 
Bacon,  are  the  handsomest  of  all. 

A  dozen  of  each  of  the  hyacinths,  narcissi,  and 
tulips  above  mentioned,  with  twenty-five  crocuses, 
the  same  number  of  squills,  and  three  or  four  lilies, 
can  be  bought  for  a  guinea,  provided  the  buyer 
takes  care  to  avoid  the  most  expensive  dealers. 
Thus  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  bulbs  would 
be  available  as  a  moderate  provision  for  winter 
needs. 

But  although  the  varieties  and  the  numbers 
above  given  will  suffice  for  the  grower  who  cannot 
afford  a  little  extravagance  for  his  winter  green- 
house, there  are  many  other  lovely  things  which 
must  be  added  to  the  list  by  those  who  can  indulge 
in  a  larger  expenditure. 

My  readers  will  have  thought  me  guilty  of  a 
curious  omission  in  regard  to  Dutch  hyacinths,  but 
the  fact  is  that  when  the  outlay  is  limited  it  is 


SEPTEMBER  179 

better  to  ignore  these  altogether.  The  money 
spent  in  buying  a  dozen  of  them  would  buy  a 
hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  tulips  or  narcissi, 
which  are  not  only  incomparably  cheaper,  but 
infinitely  more  satisfying  to  the  properly  cultivated 
eye.  If,  however,  hyacinths  are  essential  to  the 
well-being  of  the  amateur  gardener,  let  me  re- 
commend the  purchase  of  what  are  called  children's 
miniature  hyacinths.  The  nearer  the  flower  ap- 
proaches to  the  standard  of  perfection  necessary 
to  success  at  the  show  table,  the  more  it  must 
offend  the  taste  of  the  lover  of  the  graceful. 
These  miniatures,  on  the  contrary,  though  they 
may  transgress  every  canon  laid  down  by  the 
judges,  approach  nearer  than  the  others  to  the 
grace  and  charm  of  the  Roman  hyacinths  ;  they 
can  be  bought  at  a  good  deal  less  than  half  the 
price  of  the  ordinary  bulbs,  though  there  are  very 
few  dealers  who  catalogue  them.  Messrs.  Barr, 
however,  do  so,  and  from  them  they  can  be 
obtained  at  a  very  moderate  price. 

It  is  difficult  to  go  wrong  with  the  narcissus.  In 
the  ordinary  warm  greenhouse  most  of  them  can 
be  grown  to  perfection,  as  its  conditions  are  exactly 
what  suits  them  best.  Very  few  of  them  will  bear 
forcing  in  the  strict  use  of  the  term,  but  fortunately 
nearly  all  will  flourish  under  glass  if  properly 
treated.  The  only  two  that  I  have  failed  with  are 
the  double  poeticus  and  the  double  sulphur  Phcenix, 
and  I  think  that  even  with  these  the  difficulty 
could  be  easily  overcome  if  they  were  boxed  early 
and  given  cold-frame  treatment  until  the  buds 
appear,  after  they  are  taken  from  the  plunge.  But 


i8o  SEPTEMBER 

my  space  is  so  limited  that  I  cannot  afford  to  give 
up  any  of  it  to  doubtful  bloomers. 

I  do  not  admire  the  shape  of  the  Leedsii  section 
so  much  as  those  which  have  a  broader  perianth, 
but  there  is  a  great  charm  in  them  all.  Mrs. 
Langtry  is  a  particularly  beautiful  specimen,  and 
its  creamy  cup  and  perianth  are  striking  even  when 
associated  with  others  far  more  showy.  In  the 
Barrii  section  Conspicuus  is  my  favourite  of  the 
less  expensive  varieties,  and  in  the  Incomparabilis 
section  there  are  few  more  beautiful  than  Figaro. 
There  is  a  great  family  likeness  between  Cynosure, 
Figaro,  and  Conspicuus ;  all  have  the  orange- 
stained  cup,  but  the  perianth  of  Conspicuus  is  far 
more  substantial  and  the  petals  are  broader  than 
in  the  cheaper  ones.  In  point  of  colouring  one  is 
as  beautiful  as  another.  Johnstoni  Queen  of  Spain 
is  well  worth  growing  for  its  graceful,  uncommon 
shape  and  uniform  soft  yellow  shade  of  colour. 
Bulbocodium  or  Hoop  Petticoat  is  another  un- 
common form,  very  quaint  and  pleasing,  though 
not  striking,  on  account  of  its  diminutive  size. 
Emperor,  of  course,  is  very  fine  in  the  Trumpet 
section,  and  Golden  Spur  is  equally  handsome. 
Among  bicolours  I  like  as  well  as  any  the  one 
known  as  Horsefieldii.  In  fact,  as  I  said  before, 
it  is  difficult  to  go  wrong  with  narcissi ;  they  are 
beautiful,  and  nearly  all  good  doers  in  the  hands 
of  the  amateur  gardener. 

Of  tulips,  Mon  Tresor  is  a  good  yellow  for  pot 
work,  Dusant  a  fine  red,  Cottage  Maid  a  pretty 
pink  and  white.  Joost  van  Vondel  is  a  good  white, 
as  is  also  Pottebakker.  Tulips  require  very  little 


SEPTEMBER  181 

drainage  at  the  bottom  of  the  pot,  and  they  de- 
mand a  plentiful  and  regular  supply  of  water. 

Snowdrops  should  have  cold-frame  treatment, 
if  weather  permits,  till  they  are  at  the  point  of 
flowering.  They  do  not  appreciate  the  comforts 
of  a  warm  greenhouse.  Triteleia  uniflora  is  a 
pretty  little  thing  for  pot  culture,  but  where  space 
is  limited  is  not  striking  enough  to  take  up  room 
that  would  be  given  to  more  showy  things.  The 
white  allium  is  always  useful  for  cutting,  and  does 
well  in  pots,  as  do  also  the  muscaris.  There  are 
many  other  bulbous  plants  which  are  valuable 
for  winter  culture,  but  at  the  same  time  not  so 
valuable  as  to  be  actually  essential. 

And  now  as  to  the  proper  use  of  all  these 
bulbous  things  when  they  come  to  a  flowering 
stage.  My  fixed  idea  as  regards  flowers  in  general 
is  that  one  wants  them  to  live  with  ;  flowers  that 
are  in  the  greenhouse  when  I  am  in  the  drawing- 
room  are  of  no  use  to  me.  I  want  them — dozens 
of  them,  hundreds  of  them — in  my  living-rooms. 
All  through  the  winter  I  want  to  cram  into 
my  rooms  as  many  as  they  will  hold,  and  to 
have  a  few  besides  to  send  away  to  flower-loving 
friends.  The  best  way  to  have  them  is  perhaps 
in  their  pots  as  they  are  grown,  provided  that  the 
pots  are  well  filled  and  that  all  the  flowers  bloom 
simultaneously.  But  this  is  rarely  the  case,  and, 
besides,  most  of  my  bulbs  are  grown  in  rough 
boxes  in  large  quantities.  There  may  be  a  dozen 
Roman  hyacinths  just  coming  to  perfection,  and 
twice  as  many  hardly  showing  colour.  With  a  tiny 
prong  we  dig  up  those  that  are  just  coming  to  full 


1 82  SEPTEMBER 

expansion,  taking  care  to  bring  away  as  much  root- 
fibre  as  possible* and  not  to  disturb  more  than  can 
be  avoided  those  that  are  left  in  the  box.  The  roots 
may  be  washed  in  lukewarm  water  and  the  bulbs 
replanted  in  clean  sand  in  an  ornamental  pot. 
Then  the  pot  should  be  filled  up  with  water,  the 
bulbs  covered  with  clean  green  moss,  and  the  result 
is  perfection.  If  they  require  staking,  three  or 
four  very  thin  green  sticks  are  inserted  near  the 
middle  of  the  clump,  and  each  stem  is  tied  back 
to  its  nearest  stick  with  fine  light  green  flax  thread, 
care  being  taken  that  the  sticks  are  not  so  high  as 
the  foliage.  All  the  hardy  bulbs  which  I  have 
mentioned  may  be  treated  in  this  way.  The  effect 
of  a  large  beau-pot,  a  foot  or  more  in  diameter, 
nearly  filled  with  white  Italian  hyacinths,  and  then 
bordered  with  blue  squills,  is  delightful,  and  an 
equally  good  effect  can  be  had  with  yellow  crocuses 
and  white  tulips,  or  in  a  dozen  other  different 
combinations.  But  the  larger  the  bowl  the  more 
beautiful  is  the  display.  I  have  a  rather  shallow 
blue  one,  about  eighteen  inches  across,  which  is 
unimaginably  pretty  when  well  planted.  As  the 
stems  get  long  and  drawn  the  sprays  are  picked 
for  vases,  and  another  potting-up  ensues.  And 
so  the  bulb  season  goes  on. 

A  word  must  be  said  about  the  care  of  bulbs 
when  they  have  finished  flowering,  Freesias  must 
be  kept  in  the  greenhouse  and  receive  their  accus- 
tomed supply  of  water  until  the  foliage  begins  to 
turn  yellow.  Then  the  water  may  be  gradually 
discontinued,  and  when  the  leaves  are  dead  the 
pots  should  be  placed  close  to  the  glass,  in  the 


SEPTEMBER  183 

sunniest  part  of  the  greenhouse,  and  there  left  with 
no  attention  whatever  until  potting  time  comes  again. 
Unless  they  have  this  thorough  baking  the  bulbs 
will  not  mature  properly,  and  bloom  next  season 
will  be  sparse. 

All  the  other  bulbs  may  be  turned  into  a  cold 
frame,  whether  in  or  out  of  their  boxes,  care  being 
taken  in  the  latter  case  that  there  is  soil  enough 
round  them  to  prevent  their  starving  or  being 
frozen  to  death.  An  occasional  watering  in  mild 
weather  will  keep  them  going  until  the  spring, 
when  they  can  be  planted  in  the  garden  or  the 
orchard.  Many  will  flower  the  following  year,  and 
all  the  year  succeeding  it,  and  by  this  means  a  large 
stock  of  bulbs  can  be  secured  for  outdoor  blooming, 
all  of  which  will  have  served  their  primary  purpose 
first  of  all  in  the  greenhouse,  and  made  a  winter 
the  happier  by  their  beauty. 

It  is  necessary  to  take  up  the  calla  Richardias,  or 
arum  lilies,  from  their  summer  trench  in  the  early 
part  of  the  month,  to  prevent  their  getting  a  check 
that  would  retard  their  flowering.  They  are  kept 
close  in  a  frame  for  about  a  week  when  they  are 
brought  in,  and  are  transferred  to  the  greenhouse 
before  the  first  cold  comes  at  the  end  of  the  month. 
The  greenhouse  and  all  the  frames  have  been 
cleaned  for  the  winter ;  they  were  fumigated  with  a 
sulphur  candle  when  empty,  and  every  inch  of  their 
interior  has  been  washed  with  soft  soap,  so  that 
insect  pests  will  be  forced  to  build  new  houses  if 
they  make  up  their  minds  to  return  to  their  old 
haunts.  One  may  hope  that  during  the  cleansing 
operations  they  have  taken  fresh  lodgings  and  will 


1 84  SEPTEMBER 

not  care  to  disturb  themselves  by  returning  to  us. 
The  woodlice,  or  "  pigs,"  as  Sterculus  calls  them, 
are  some  of  our  most  persistent  invaders. 

Besides  the  frames  and  the  house,  the  plants  also 
have  to  be  cleaned.  They  are  laid  on  their  sides  on 
the  ground,  and  are  syringed  with  a  weak  insecti- 
cide both  under  and  over  the  leaves.  The  pots  are 
scrubbed,  and  everything  is  subjected  to  a  severe 
scrutiny  before  being  set  in  winter  quarters.  A 
mat  placed  under  the  pots  while  the  syringing  is 
being  done  prevents  the  soil  from  splashing  up 
again  on  to  the  leaves  and  pots.  This  annual 
cleaning  is  well  worth  the  trouble  we  take  over  it. 

Sept.  75.  This  is  the  best  time  to  prepare  the 
violet  beds  for  the  winter.  If  the  plants  have  been 
kept  watered  through  the  hot  weather  they  will  now 
be  of  a  good  size  and  well  set  with  buds.  Some 
care  should  be  taken  in  filling  the  frames,  and  raw 
manure  must  never  be  used  if  a  steady  supply  of 
flowers  is  required  over  a  long  period.  There  will 
be  plenty  of  bean  and  pea  haulm,  old  sunflower 
stems,  or  other  rough  stuff,  with  which  the  boxes 
may  be  filled  to  the  depth  of  a  foot,  and  the 
material  must  then  be  well  trampled  down  to  reduce 
it  in  compass.  A  good  light  soil  mixed  with  a  fair 
proportion  of  spent  manure  from  an  old  hotbed  may 
fill  the  frame  to  within  six  inches  of  the  top,  care 
being  taken  again  to  make  the  bed  firm.  Lift  the 
violets  with  large  balls  round  their  roots,  nip  off  any 
runners  which  may  have  formed,  and  plant  closely 
together  in  the  frame.  If  they  have  been  properly 
looked  after  in  the  summer,  they  will  begin  to  bloom 
profusely  in  a  fortnight's  time.  But  one  caution  is 


SEPTEMBER  185 

most  essential.  Under  no  conceivable  circum- 
stances should  the  lights  be  put  on — not  even  at 
night — until  the  end  of  November.  If  the  weather 
is  very  cold  they  may  then  be  shut,  or  nearly  shut, 
at  night,  but  not  otherwise.  Violets  will  not  do 
well  late  if  they  are  coddled  early  in  the  winter ;  the 
cooler  their  treatment  is,  short  of  being  subjected  to 
severe  frost,  the  better  they  will  thrive.  About 
Christmas  time  some  good  old  manure  may  be 
pricked  in  about  the  roots,  and  if  the  flowers  have 
become  small  and  sparse  they  will  speedily  improve. 
At  mid-winter,  in  a  long  spell  of  sharp  frost,  a  few 
handfuls  of  dead  fern  may  be  strewed  among  the 
plants,  inside  the  frames,  and  as  much  protection 
may  be  given  outside  as  is  convenient,  to  protect 
from  damage  the  dormant  buds. 


OCTOBER 

Oct.  r  I  ^  H  E  work  of  October  is  very  important. 
/•  i  It  is  now  that  provision  is  made  for 
winter  wants — or  rather,  it  is  now  that  it  is  seen 
what  provision  has  been  made,  for  in  some  cases 
nearly  a  whole  year's  forethought  is  required  to 
secure  a  pot  of  bloom.  Many  chrysanthemums,  for 
instance,  have  been  growing  since  last  Christmas, 
and  there  are  very  few  winter  subjects  that  do  not 
require  six  months'  preliminary  treatment  before 
they  will  reward  the  grower  with  their  flowers. 

My  greenhouse  measures  fifteen  feet  by  ten — not 
an  extravagant  size.  It  has  a  stage  down  each  side 
and  at  one  end  ;  a  couple  of  shelves  rather  high  up, 
also  at  the  end  ;  a  movable  shelf,  that  in  times  of 
stress  swings  high  in  the  roof  above  my  head  ;  and 
a  couple  of  benches,  which — also  when  the  need  is 
dire — run  down  the  centre,  standing  on  the  gravel 
which  forms  the  floor.  It  is  heated  with  an  Ivanhoe 
stove,  and  a  four-inch  flow  and  return  pipe  round 
two  sides  and  an  end.  The  stage  on  one  side  is 
topped  with  a  galvanised  tray  its  whole  length  and 
width,  and  about  six  inches  deep.  This  tray  is 
filled  with  peat  from  a  neighbouring  fir  wood,  in 
which  we  can  plunge  cyclamens  and  other  things 

1 86 


OCTOBER  187 

that  dislike  a  draught  circulating  about  their  roots. 
The  peat  can  be  kept  moist  as  is  required,  which  is 
a  great  help  in  the  growing  of  some  things.  The 
portion  of  tray  which  is  over  the  stove  is  filled  with 
sand  instead  of  peat.  This  is  not  a  desirable  plunge, 
but  in  our  circumstances  it  is  a  necessary  one  ;  for 
where  there  is  now  sand  there  once  was  peat,  which 
ignited  by  the  heat  under  it  given  out  by  the  stove, 
to  our  almost  irreparable  undoing. 

We  pack  a  great  deal  into  the  greenhouse. 
There  are  in  it  now  fifty  large  chrysanthemums, 
nearly  all  of  them  in  seven-inch  or  nine-inch  pots  ; 
seventy  pots  of  zonal  pelargoniums,  eighteen  of 
freesias,  twenty  of  primulas,  twelve  of  arum  lilies, 
twelve  of  cyclamens,  and  a  few  odd  things,  such  as  a 
large  pot  of  smilax  growing  up  many  strings  for 
cutting  ;  another  large  one  of  the  dwarf  asparagus 
fern,  also  for  cutting ;  one  or  two  winter-flowering 
cacti,  a  lemon  verbena,  and  so  on. 

A  large  four-light  frame  contains  other  plants 
—cinerarias,  fancy  pelargoniums  for  the  spring, 
Christmas  roses  in  pots,  Solomon's  seal,  with  nar- 
cissus, paper-white  and  double  Roman,  in  large 
boxes,  just  taken  from  the  plunge.  There  are  also 
numerous  begonias,  gloxinias,  achimenes,  fuchsias, 
and  other  things  which  made  the  greenhouse  gay 
in  summer. 

Four  more  frames  hold  the  violets,  which  already 
are  yielding  profuse  bloom.  There  is  one  frame  of 
the  lovely  Princess  of  Wales,  whose  blossoms  hide 
a  penny-piece  ;  these  are  now  in  perfect  condition. 
They  will  be  of  no  use  at  mid-winter,  but  will  come 
on  again  in  early  spring.  Two  of  Marie  Louise 


1 88  OCTOBER 

and  one  of  Count  Brazza's  white  violets  complete 
the  tale  of  frames  given  up  to  these  flowers.  Other 
plants  are  growing  in  the  open,  to  yield  their 
blossoms  later  than  the  ones  that  are  in  shelter. 

In  the  next  following  pages  I  am  going  to  give 
advice  to  those  who  have  but  a  small  quantity  of 
glass,  and  are  yet  desirous  of  keeping  up  a  stock  of 
flowers  for  cutting  during  the  winter  season  of  the 
year.  To  persons  who  possess  a  considerable  area 
of  greenhouse  accommodation  I  have  nothing  to 
say.  They  should  never  be  wanting  in  blossoms, 
provided  that  proper  care  and  a  sufficient  expendi- 
ture is  provided.  But  there  is  a  far  larger  class  of 
amateur  growers — those  who  have  a  small  green- 
house, or  perhaps  a  couple  of  greenhouses,  and 
imagine  themselves  well  off  for  flowers  if  they  can 
muster  half  a  dozen  pots  or  vases  for  the  drawing- 
room  in  January.  To  these  I  should  like  to  prove 
that  they  are  by  no  means  getting  the  best  that  is 
possible  unless  they  can  fill  their  rooms  as  full  of 
flowers  in  January  as  in  August.  This  chapter, 
therefore,  is  addressed  to  amateur  gardeners  who 
have  sufficient  outdoor  plants  to  provide  flowers  for 
cutting  from  March  to  October,  and  require  enough 
under  glass  to  keep  them  supplied  from  October  to 
March. 

The  first  essential  is  the  giving  up  entirely  and 
unreservedly  all  the  bedding  plants  with  which  the 
greenhouse  is  probably  half  filled.  In  the  first 
place,  the  summer  bedding  system  of  gardening  is 
utterly  wrong  in  principle.  Spring,  summer,  and 
autumn  should  find  its  own  flowers  growing  without 
disturbance  at  any  season  of  the  year.  There  may 


OCTOBER  189 

be  mansions — I  have  not  seen  them  myself — which 
demand  among  their  surroundings  the  stiff  and 
monotonous  decoration  of  bedding  plants  ;  but  the 
ordinary  English  house  is  at  its  best  in  the  really 
English  garden — a  garden  of  herbaceous  plants, 
and  roses,  and  carnations,  and  good  things  which 
have  been  relegated  for  so  many  years  to  the 
kitchen  domains  that  we  feel  ashamed  to  give  them, 
as  we  should  do,  the  best  places  in  the  parterre. 
It  may  be  said  that  the  season  of  bloom  of  carna- 
tions, for  instance,  is  too  short  to  allow  of  their 
usurping  the  best  beds.  This  taste  for  perpetual 
bloom  on  a  given  piece  of  ground  is  a  depraved 
taste,  and  should  not  be  encouraged. 

To  return  to  the  greenhouse.  When  all  the 
bedding  plants  have  been  consigned  to  the  rubbish 
heap — with  the  exception  of  a  few  zonal  and 
ivy-leafed  pelargoniums,  which  will  be  wanted 
for  next  year's  tubs  or  hanging  baskets,  if  these 
are  used — the  whole  of  the  glass-house  will  be 
available  for  its  proper  purpose.  The  next  thing 
to  do  is  to  send  nearly  all  the  hard-wood  plants 
the  way  of  the  bedding  stuff.  Even  many  of  those 
which  flower  in  winter  cannot  be  usefully  retained 
if  the  best  possible  results  as  regards  quantity  are 
to  be  gained.  The  amateur  with  but  a  small 
greenhouse  cannot  have  these  beautiful  things. 
He  cannot  have  azaleas,  because  they  take  up 
large  spaces  on  the  stage  from  October  to  February 
which  should  be  given  to  flowers  that  bloom  within 
those  months.  He  cannot  have  bouvardias  for  the 
same  reason,  for  they  will  not  do  their  best  in 
winter  in  the  ordinary  amateur's  house.  Fuchsias 


1 90  OCTOBER 

are  also  taboo  for  similar  considerations.  From  a 
different  cause,  but  an  equally  potent  one,  such 
good  winter  blooms  as  sparmannia,  cytisus,  and 
other  amenable  plants  are  impossible  ;  they  flower 
at  the  right  time,  indeed,  but  their  habit  is  large, 
or,  at  any  rate,  it  tends  rapidly  to  become  so,  and 
they  take  up  the  room  of  several  primulas  or 
geraniums.  All  these  things,  or  nearly  all,  must 
depart  in  favour  of  soft  stuff  and  bulbs,  which  will 
keep  the  house  gay  from  October  to  March.  There 
is,  in  fact,  to  be  nothing  on  the  shelves  or  the  stages 
except  plants  that  will  flower  in  winter,  and — a  very 
important  consideration — plants  that  can  be  for 
the  most  part  done  away  with  directly  their  bloom 
is  over.  This  is  the  case  with  primulas  and 
cinerarias,  which  may  be  thrown  to  the  rubbish 
heap  when  their  flowers  are  cut ;  chrysanthemums 
can  be  turned  into  frames,  as  may  also  all  the  hardy 
bulbs  when  their  season  is  over,  with  cyclamens, 
callas,  and  half  a  dozen  other  things.  With  proper 
protection  they  will  come  to  no  harm.  Freesias 
can  be  thrust  under  the  stages  ;  pelargoniums  into 
a  warm  attic  ;  most  things,  in  short,  can  be  got 
rid  of  for  a  time,  except  in  an  exceptionally  rigorous 
winter,  to  leave  the  greenhouse  free  for  flowering 
plants. 

The  conscientious  reader  who  skims  over  this 
chapter  with  an  inclination  to  act  upon  its  advice 
will  by  this  time  feel  very  sad  for  his  summer 
display  under  glass.  But  I  do  not  for  a  moment 
intend  to  deny  him  the  pleasure  of  greenhouse 
flowers  in  the  summer  months,  though  he  may 
possibly  be  obliged  to  rearrange  his  stock  of  these 


OCTOBER  191 

things.  In  such  a  house  as  I  have  described 
many  hundreds  of  pots  of  begonias,  achimenes, 
and  gloxinias  may  be  laid  on  their  sides  under 
the  stages  in  October,  and  brought  out  and  started 
a  few  at  a  time  from  February  onwards,  when 
the  congestion  of  the  house  is  to  some  extent 
relieved.  Petunias  may  then  be  sown  with  a 
dozen  other  subjects  that  thrive  well  in  pots  and 
will  provide  a  summer  show.  Moreover,  as  in 
all  probability  nothing  will  induce  him  to  act 
unreservedly  on  my  advice  of  the  immediately 
preceding  pages,  he  will  have  spared  some  of  the 
best  of  the  fancy  pelargoniums  and  other  spring 
flowering  stuff,  so  that  there  shall  be  no  gap 
between  his  winter  and  his  midsummer  displays 
under  glass. 

Apart  from  chrysanthemums,  the  main  source 
of  supply  for  some  weeks  to  come  will  be  zonal 
pelargoniums,  and,  a  little  later,  primulas.  Of 
course,  all  zonals  are  not  suited  for  winter  blooming, 
but  there  are  plenty  which  will  flower  in  a  night 
temperature  of  40°  or  45°,  and  some  of  these 
should  be  secured.  Among  other  good  varieties 
may  be  mentioned  Volcanic,  Sunbeam,  Lucrece, 
Mikado,  Nicholas  II.,  Puritan,  and  the  old  Jacoby. 
The  cuttings  should  be  struck  in  March,  and  all  the 
buds  should  be  nipped  off  as  they  form,  until 
September,  when  they  may  be  allowed  to  develop. 
When  they  are  once  staged  for  blooming  water 
should  be  given  only  when  required,  and  no  manure 
water  permitted,  for  if  leaf  growth  is  now  en- 
couraged they  will  cease  to  give  blossoms.  These 
are  very  good  for  the  amateur's  greenhouse,  as 


192  OCTOBER 

the  young  plants  do  not  require  large  pots,  four-inch 
or  five-inch  being  quite  big  enough  ;  and  they  may 
be  staged  so  close  as  to  touch  each  other,  which 
makes  them  economical  of  space.  If  the  gardener 
does  not  exhibit  sufficient  forethought  to  ensure 
a  provision  of  these  flowers,  and  of  primulas,  the 
early  winter  season  will  be  bare  indeed.  Chrysan- 
themums, beautiful  as  they  are,  are  not  sufficiently 
satisfying  to  take  the  place  of  everything  else, 
and  there  is  always  a  certain  amount  of  risk 
attending  the  culture  of  hardy  annuals  in  pots 
for  autumn  use.  They  may  turn  out  well  or  they 
may  fail  entirely.  Primulas  and  zonal  pelargoniums 
under  ordinarily  careful  treatment  never  disappoint 
the  grower. 

Best  of  all  the  primulas  I  like  the  variety  called 
the  Star.  The  blossoms,  though  small,  are  thrown 
well  above  the  foliage,  and  they  are  admirable  for 
cutting,  as  they  last  in  water  for  a  fortnight.  The 
blue  kind  of  primula  sinensis,  too,  is  indispensable, 
and  a  vase  or  pot  of  it  always  attracts  notice.  The 
seed  of  this  is  expensive  to  buy  at  our  best  seeds- 
men's, but  for  a  few  pence  a  packet  of  it  can  be 
purchased  from  some  of  the  German  growers  who 
advertise  in  our  gardening  papers.  As  no  amount 
of  money  will  at  present  secure  a  true-blue  colour,  it 
is  hardly  worth  while  to  pay  several  shillings  for 
seed  which  is  only  of  lavender  a  shade  deeper  than 
Germany  can  supply  for  half  a  dozen  pence. 

In  places  where  beds  of  annuals  are  used  for  a 
summer  display  the  space  will  now  be  available  for 
planting  for  spring.  Nothing  is  more  beautiful 
than  wallflowers  for  this.  The  best,  to  my  mind, 


OCTOBER  193 

are  the  gold  and  the  primrose  varieties  ;  for  cutting 
there  is  certainly  nothing  more  telling  than  these 
two  in  combination.  The  art  shades,  as  they  are 
termed — the  so-called  salmon  and  mauve  and 
purplish  tints — are  better  omitted  unless  there  is 
plenty  of  room  for  all,  but  the  old  blood-red  is 
always  beautiful.  Double  white  daisies  make  an 
excellent  border  for  the  gold  and  primrose  sorts, 
and  with  the  red  no  plant  is  prettier  than  the  blue 
forget-me-not.  There  is  nothing  new  about  the 
combination,  but  assuredly  there  are  few  things 
better. 

Oct.  ii.  I  have  been  staying  for  a  week  with 
Seraphina  in  Devonshire,  and  have  had  a  very 
pleasant  time.  It  may  be  always  taken  for  granted 
that  wherever  Seraphina  is  there  will  be  a  pleasant 
time,  or  Seraphina  would  not  be  there.  Even  her 
husband  seems  to  enjoy  life,  though  Jim  declares 
that  his  contentment  is  probably  the  usual  kind  of 
happiness  in  the  married  state — resignation  after  the 
event.  Jim,  as  I  have  before  indicated,  has  no  very 
exalted  opinion  of  Seraphina,  but  he  hates  to  find 
fault  with  her,  though  Heaven  knows  she  is  faulty 
enough.  His  desire  to  make  the  best  of  people  is 
in  continual  conflict  with  his  healthy  sense  of 
humour,  and  I  have  never  heard  him  say  anything 
more  severe  of  Seraphina  than  that  she  is  careful 
to  keep  all  the  commandments,  one  at  a  time. 
After  all,  can  much  more  than  this  be  said  for  the 
best  of  us  ?  Our  virtues,  as  a  rule,  are  wont  to 
display  themselves  singly. 

I   return  to  find  all  our  gates  painted  a  bright 
turquoise    blue.      I    should    think   that    there  is   no 
o 


194  OCTOBER 

other  place  in  the  county  which  has  turquoise-blue 
gates.  Jim's  guilty  face,  when  he  met  me  on  the 
doorstep,  betrayed  his  responsibility  without  any 
hope  of  disguise.  It  appears  that  a  worthy  youth 
in  the  village  has  lately  taken  to  carpentering  as 
a  means  of  livelihood,  and  his  master  has  palmed 
off  a  quantity  of  paint  material  on  the  guileless  lad 
at  a  tempting  price.  He,  being  seized  in  his  turn 
with  the  lust  of  profit-making,  confided  the  news  of 
his  purchase  to  Jim,  and  begged  permission  to 
adorn  our  premises,  and  Jim,  though  he  must  have 
known  full  well  how  detestable  it  would  look, 
weakly  consented.  The  result  is  amazement.  I 
cannot  see  why  the  boy,  simply  because  he  is  a 
good  boy  and  an  industrious  and  dutiful  boy,  should 
be  allowed  to  disfigure  us  so  completely,  but  Jim,  of 
course,  disagrees  with  me.  He  says  he  thought 
that  the  boy  probably  knew  best,  and  at  any  rate 
he  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  on  the  subject  before 
he  broached  it  to  Jim.  I  am  certain  that  if  he  had 
wished  to  paint  the  gates  orange  colour,  orange 
colour  they  would  have  been  by  this  time,  so 
perhaps  there  is  something  to  be  thankful  for  after 
all.  At  any  rate,  I  did  not  feel  justified  in  betraying 
all  the  wrath  I  felt,  for  Jim  was  obviously  gloomy 
about  some  other  matter,  which  I  made  it  my  busi- 
ness to  discover.  His  tenderness  for  worthy  and 
dutiful  village  boys  is  extended  to  the  lower  brute 
creation,  and  it  was  an  interview  with  the  village 
butcher,  ten  minutes  before  my  appearance,  which 
had  annoyed  him.  He  called  upon  Mr.  Griskin  to 
speak  about  some  Parish  Council  business,  and 
found  that  excellent  tradesman  in  the  act  of  promis- 


OCTOBER 


195 


ing  his  smallest  son  that,  if  he  would  be  a  good  boy 
at  school  throughout  the  winter,  he  should  be 
allowed,  as  a  particular  treat  on  his  next  birthday, 


MR.    GRISKIN  THE   BUTCHER 


to  —  kill  a  lamb.  Mr.  Griskin  made  haste  to  enlarge 
on  the  topic  to  Jim,  and  furthermore  told  him  that 
his  eldest  hope,  who  had  been  destined  from  infancy 
to  inherit  his  grandfather's  drapery  business,  had 
developed  such  a  love  of  animals  that  they  had 


196  OCTOBER 

thought  it  best  to  make  a  butcher  of  him.  The 
result  so  far  had  been  successful  beyond  his 
expectations.  I  tried  to  console  Jim  by  telling 
him  that  I  had  once  seen  a  similar  story  labelled 
as  a  joke  in  the  pages  of  Punch,  but  he  did  not 
recover  his  spirits  the  whole  evening. 


"WE   ALWAYS   LOOKS   AFTER   THE   SEX " 

For  my  part  I  was  so  glad  to  get  home  again 
that  not  even  turquoise  gates  had  power  to  dash 
my  happiness  for  more  than  a  moment.  Besides, 
I  had  met  with  a  cheering  railway  porter  at  Bristol, 
where,  after  several  hours  of  travelling,  I  had  to 
change  trains,  which  I  always  find  a  depressing 
incident  in  a  journey.  I  was  hurrying  from  one 


OCTOBER  197 

platform  to  another,  the  porter  carrying  my  smaller 
luggage,  when  he  looked  back  over  his  shoulder 
and  said  with  paternal  solicitude — 

"  Don't  you  hurry,  ma'am.  We  always  looks  after 
the  sex  ;  it's  the  only  good  thing  we've  got  left." 

I  daresay  there  are  some  persons  who  would  fail 
to  understand  why  I  began  to  feel  happy  at  once, 
and  was  enabled  almost  to  enjoy  the  remainder  of 
the  journey. 

I  brought  back  with  me  a  small  nephew  and  niece 
on  an  indefinite  visit,  and  they  shock  our  other 
guests  by  their  invariable  greeting,  "  We've  come 
to  stay  wif  auntie  because  muvver's  nearly  dead." 
They  are  callous  little  creatures,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  touch  their  hard  hearts.  I  ventured  when  Basil 
was  naughty  this  morning  to  say  to  him— 

"  If  you  are  not  a  good  boy,  Basil,  I  shan't  love 
you  any  more." 

"And  I'm  not  loving  you  now,"  was  the  unabashed 
reply. 

He  is  very  anxious  to  understand  the  manner  of 
his  first  creation,  and  questioned  me  very  closely. 

"  Did  God  say  '  Let  there  be  Basil,'  and  there 
was  Basil?" 

Thereupon  I  thought  it  would  interest  him  to 
hear  about  a  great  fire  which  I  had  seen  when  I  was 
away,  and  was  proceeding  with  a  vivid  description 
when  he  yawned  audibly,  and  said — 

"Yes,  thank  you,  auntie,  but  now  tell  us  about 
hell  fire." 

I  did  not  feel  competent  to  describe  hell  fire,  and 
my  nephew  has  a  poor  opinion  of  me  in  conse- 
quence. 


198  OCTOBER 

Oct.  12.  The  new  curate  has  called.  He  is  a 
timid,  retiring  creature.  If  one  asks  him  a  question 
to  which  an  affirmative  reply  is  clearly  indicated,  he 
says,  "  Certainly — I  suppose  so  —  perhaps."  It 
reminds  me  of  the  Frenchman  who,  when  called 
upon  to  admire  Niagara,  exclaimed,  "It  is  magnifi- 
cent !  it  is  stupendous  !  it  is  pretty  well ! "  This 
good  young  man  has  evidently  been  much  kept  in 
order.  I  wonder  how  soon  he  will  discover  that  he 
really  has  an  opinion  of  his  own — or  if  he  will  never 
do  so. 

It  must  astonish  and  mystify  a  country  population 
to  observe  the  enormous  differences  presented  by 
their  ecclesiastical  shepherds.  There  is  in  them  no 
harmonious  similarity  of  demeanour,  such  as  should 
appear  in  brethren  of  one  cloth.  Dr.  Capel,  the 
late  rector  of  a  neighbouring  parish,  for  instance, 
could  not  easily  be  reproduced,  for  which  his  parish- 
ioners certainly  ought  to  feel  thankful.  If  he  passed 
a  man  who  omitted  to  touch  his  hat  to  him,  he  would 
make  haste  to  deprive  him  of  that  necessary  gear. 
If  the  impertinent  minion  happened  to  be  riding 
in  his  donkey-cart,  Dr.  Capel  would  incontinently 
pull  him  from  the  seat.  He  was,  I  should  think, 
rather  a  naughty  old  parson.  He  had  nine  plain 
daughters  of  various  advanced  ages,  and  he  would 
look  round  upon  them  as  they  sat  at  his  board  at 
dinner-time,  and  remark  to  any  casual  guest — 

"  A  doosid  slow  thing  is  virtue." 

One  can  hardly  be  surprised  that  shortly  after  his 
death,  when  his  successor  was  attending  a  rustic 
labourer  in  extremis,  and  was  pointing  a  moral  from 
the  parable  of  Dives  and  Lazarus,  the  poor  old  soul 


HE   HAD   OMITTED  TO  TOUCH   HIS   HAT 


OCTOBER 


199 


on  being  pressed  to  put  his  own  interpretation  on 
the  story  remarked  con  gusto,  "  Why,  of  course, 
gentleman  went  to  hell." 

Oct.  77.     I  ought  to  know  these  people  by  this 


"AND  I'M  NOT  LOVING  YOU  NOW" 

time,  but  there  is  always  something  new  to  discover 
in  the  rustic.  He  is  like  a  half- explored  land,  still 
full  of  surprises  for  the  explorer.  I  have  been 
getting  my  poultry  lately  from  Meshach,  who  is 
trying  to  make  a  few  honest  shillings  out  of  his  hen- 
yard  in  addition  to  a  labourer's  wage.  I  wanted  a 


200  OCTOBER 

pair  of  chickens  for  Monday,  and  the  weather  being 
very  warm  I  desired  him  to  slaughter  them  on 
Sunday  instead  of  on  Saturday.  He  hesitated 
somewhat  at  the  order,  but  I  did  not  think  that 
even  he  could  regard  it  as  a  deadly  sin  to  twist  a 
couple  of  necks  on  the  Sabbath,  so  I  did  not  wait 
for  any  reply.  To-day  I  hear  that  he  sat  up  on 
Sunday  night  until  ten  minutes  past  twelve  with  the 
fowls  in  a  hen-coop  in  his  kitchen,  and  then,  Monday 
having  arrived,  he  was  able  to  do  the  deed  without 
sin.  I  recollect  that  about  Whitsuntide,  immedi- 
ately after  his  conversion,  he  was  the  only  possessor 
of  early  cabbage  in  the  village,  and  on  a  Sunday 
morning  Sterculus  cast  longing  eyes  at  his  brother's 
cabbage-bed  as  he  went  by,  and  begged  for  a  head 
for  his  dinner.  Meshach  said  nothing.  He  took 
his  great  clasp  knife  from  his  pocket,  opened 
it  and  laid  it  on  the  hedge,  retired  into  his 
cottage,  and  struck  up  a  favourite  hymn  on  the 
concertina — 

"  The  devil  and  me,  we  can't  agree, 
I  hate  him  and  he  hates  me." 

When  the  hymn  was  finished  he  came  back  to 
the  cabbage-bed,  and  sorrowfully  noted  a  gap  in  its 
symmetry,  while  he  replaced  in  his  trouser  pocket 
the  knife  which  lay  almost  where  he  had  left  it. 
Sterculus  told  me  the  story  the  next  day,  with  many 
grunts  of  contempt  for  his  brother's  "old-fashioned 
notions,"  as  he  called  it. 

Meshach's  mother,  with  whom  he  lives,  is  a 
grumbling  soul,  who  demands  much  attention.  She 
was  unfortunate  enough  to  catch  cold  on  the  day 


OCTOBER  201 

of  Queen  Victoria's  coronation,  when  there  was  a 
great  village  junketing  together  with  a  violent 
thunderstorm,  and  has  never  felt  well  since.  That, 
at  least,  is  her  story.  Sometimes,  when  she  is  in  a 
grateful  humour,  she  will  give  me  one  of  her  old 
books,  of  which  she  has  a  queer  and  inappropriate 
collection,  acquired  when  she  was  in  service  sixty 
odd  years  past.  They  are  all  of  a  serious  nature, 
and  Meshach  loves  them  ;  so  my  only  means  of 
keeping  them  both  happy  is  to  accept  the  volume 
pressed  upon  me  by  old  Dame  Werge,  and  to 
restore  it  surreptitiously  on  my  next  visit.  If  she 
ever  discovers  the  fraud,  she  is  acute  enough  to  keep 
the  discovery  to  herself.  I  could  not  possibly  get 
any  pleasure  out  of  the  volume  she  gave  me  on 
Thursday,  for  it  has  black  marginal  lines  round 
every  page,  which  recalls  a  prejudice  of  my  child- 
hood. 

When  I  was  a  young  thing  no  one  ever  thought 
of  giving  me  any  present  but  a  book,  for  nothing 
else  would  have  been  valued  by  me.  My  grand- 
father, however,  at  one  time  got  into  an  unlucky 
vein  in  his  purchasing,  and  brought  me  two  or  three 
extremely  dull  ones  in  succession.  They  were  very 
dreary,  very  religious,  and  abounded  in  very  long 
words.  Moreover,  they  all  had  marginal  lines  round 
each  page.  At  last  another  present  was  due.  I 
tore  off  the  wrapper  with  terrible  misgiving,  and 
burst  into  floods  of  tears.  There  was  a  veritable 
Oxford  frame  of  black  lines  round  every  page,  and 
I  knew  that  sort  of  book  too  well.  My  good  grand- 
father, when  he  learnt  my  prejudice,  changed  it  for 
me  promptly,  and  took  care  never  to  get  another  of 


202  OCTOBER 

the  same  kind.      But  the  impression  is  as  strong  as 
ever,  irrational  as  it  may  be. 

I  used  to  spend  many  happy  days  with  an  uncle 
who  was  a  scholar  and  delighted  in  books,  but 
whose  limited  clerical  stipend  forbade  his  indulging 
his  tastes  in  this  direction.  He  was  once,  however, 
within  my  remembrance  guilty  of  a  frightful  extra- 
vagance, and  this  great  event  for  him  and  for  me 
took  place  when  I  was  about  twelve  years  old. 
The  carpenter,  undertaker,  upholsterer,  and  general 
utility  man  of  the  village  in  which  he  lived  was 
possessed,  in  the  way  of  business,  of  a  large  quantity 
of  waste  paper,  mostly  in  the  form  of  books,  and 
my  uncle,  yielding  to  a  guilty  and  long-combated 
desire,  bought  a  hundredweight  of  this  book  stuff 
for  the  sum  of  one  sovereign.  Stealthily  was  it 
carted  across  the  road  in  a  wheelbarrow  to  his  study 
window,  to  be  guiltily  handed  in  to  him  at  dead  of 
night;  but  the  tale  of  its  discovery  and  of  my  aunt's 
righteous  anger  may  not  be  told  here.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  the  purchase  was  a  joy  to  him  and  to  me 
for  years.  I  had  my  choice  of  what  I  would,  and  I 
still  cherish  an  eighteenth  -  century  copy  of  The 
Compleat  Angler,  thumbed  in  my  childhood  by  me 
as  much  as  by  any  of  its  former  owners.  But  the 
greatest  joy  of  all  was  an  old  metrical  translation  of 
Euripides,  which  I  have  long  since  lost.  Many  of 
my  childish  days  were  made  happy  by  it,  and  I 
would  give  a  good  deal  to  possess  it  now.  I 
wonder  if  I  should  find  in  it  the  same  magical 
charm  that  I  found  then.  I  trow  not.  It  was  only 
a  translation,  and  although  the  best,  as  Goethe  says, 
can  always  be  translated,  even  the  best  must  seem 


OCTOBER  203 

to  lack  something  when  the  critical  faculty  is  alert, 
unless  the  translator's  mental  gifts  are  on  a  par  with 
those  of  the  original  writer. 

But  there  was  one  book  which  I  loved  more 
dearly  than  any  that  it  has  been  my  lot  to  touch 
or  to  read  since.  It  was  called  The  Sorrows  of 
Christine,  and  I  wrote  it  myself. 

What  was  it  all  about,  my  first  book  ?  Beautiful 
to  outward  view  I  can  well  remember  it,  for  it  was 
bound  in  white  cardboard,  and  edged  and  tied  with 
red  ribbons.  The  binding,  in  fact,  gave  me  as 
much  labour  and  anxiety  as  the  written  matter 
within,  and  this  is  saying  a  great  deal,  for  the 
whole  thing  was  a  work  of  no  mean  size.  The  plot 
of  the  story  has  long  been  forgotten  even  by  its 
writer,  but  I  can  recollect  that  the  scenery  was 
made  in  Germany,  and  that  the  hero  and  heroine 
were  named  Gustav  and  Christine.  Why  I  chose 
Germany  as  the  fatherland  of  my  firstborn  I  cannot, 
after  all  this  lapse  of  time,  recall,  for  I  had  never 
been  in  that  country,  and  knew  scarce  a  word  of 
the  language.  However,  such  details  are  as  naught 
to  the  youthful  novelist,  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  I 
ignored  triumphantly  all  the  exigencies  of  manners 
and  of  tongue  and  of  local  colour  alike  with  a  lofty 
scorn,  which — alas  for  middle  age's  disabilities  !— 
would  not  come  to  my  aid  in  these  later  days  to 
help  me  over  such  difficulties,  charmed  I  never  so 
wisely.  But  I  was  in  my  early  teens  and  in  short 
petticoats  when  I  wrote  my  first  book,  and  youth  is 
known  to  be  infallible. 

The  gaudy  volume  was  handed  about  in  the 
family  as  a  work  of  youthful  genius,  and  I  was  not 


204  OCTOBER 

a  little  proud  of  its  immediate  success.  It  was 
beautifully  written  in  a  fair  round  hand,  and  no  one 
could  complain  that  it  was,  in  one  sense  at  least, 
hard  reading.  Eventually  it  was  lent  to  a  more 
distant  relative  whose  opinion  on  most  subjects  was 
considered  final.  It  was  a  great  blow  to  me  when 
this  relative  returned  my  beloved  book  without 
praise  even  of  the  mildest  order,  advising  me  to 
write  about  children,  and  about  English  children, 
und  to  refrain  from  attempting  German  love 
stories  until  I  should  know  a  little  more  of  my 
subject.  I  could  never  again  endure  even  to  think 
of  the  sorrows  of  Gustav  and  Christine,  for  my 
self-confidence  was  easily  shaken ;  the  book  was 
cared  for  by  my  sisters  for  a  while,  and  finally  dis- 
appeared, no  one  remembers  how.  I  have  a  dim 
suspicion  that  I  burnt  it ;  a  book  of  which  people 
could  speak  so  slightingly  was  better  dead  and  for- 
gotten. 

My  next  story  was  a  much  shorter  one.  It  dealt, 
I  remember,  with  exciting  adventures  on  the  ice- 
floe, and  the  dramatis  personce  were  Norwegian, 
as  was  also  the  floe.  The  characters — if  characters 
they  can  be  called  who  were  utterly  destitute  of 
character — suffered  a  great  deal  from  the  cold.  As 
with  my  first  book  a  knowledge  of  German  and 
Germany  had  seemed  unnecessary,  so  with  my 
second  an  acquaintance  with  Norway  and  the 
Norwegian  language  was  quite  as  unimportant 
a  matter.  I  can  recall,  though,  that  in  one  place, 
at  any  rate,  I  tried  to  infuse  a  little  local  colour  into 
my  descriptive  narrative  ;  I  have  a  distinct  memory 
of  a  sentence  which  bears  out  this  assertion — 


OCTOBER  205 

"  Men  were  so  cold  they  forgot  to  sing  Gamlt 


I  believe  Gamtt  Norge"  is  the  National  Anthem 
of  Norway,  and  I  am  glad  to  convince  myself  that 
in  the  matter  of  couleur  locale  my  second  story  was 
a  distinct  advance  on  my  first.  I  suppose  I  must 
have  burnt  this  manuscript  as  well  as  the  other  ;  at 
any  rate,  it  does  not  survive. 

My  third  effort  was  of  the  short  story  order. 
I  was  about  sixteen  when  I  wrote  it,  and  sent  it  in 
trembling  hope  to  Dr.  George  Macdonald,  who  at 
that  time  edited  a  magazine  which  made  the  chief 
brightness  of  my  childish  life  —  Good  Words  for  the 
Young.  I  was  not  kept  long  in  suspense.  My 
manuscript  was  returned  to  me  with  a  kind,  firm 
note  from  the  editor,  who,  in  unhesitatingly  reject- 
ing me  and  my  young  effort,  advised  me  to  put 
aside  the  pen  and  devote  myself  to  study.  I  have 
a  distinct  recollection  of  burning  this  letter  the  very 
hour  I  received  it  —  and  with  the  letter  the  luckless 
story  —  for  fear  my  family  should  come  to  know 
of  my  shame.  From  that  day  to  this  the  fact  has 
been  locked  a  secret  in  my  own  bosom,  and  I  now 
for  the  first  time  reveal  it  under  press  of  the 
exigencies  of  truth  in  telling  this  history. 

Oct.  j/.  Failure  if  a  bitter  is  often  a  salutary 
experience.  In  gardening  it  is  the  necessary  fore- 
runner of  success,  since  all  one's  best  results  ensue 
from  previous  failure.  Now  that  the  summer  is 
over,  it  is  well  to  consider  one's  failures  and  the 
reason  of  them,  and  to  balance  them  against  the 
successes  ;  so  I  shall  jot  down  a  few  things  which 
have  baffled  me,  not  necessarily  of  late,  but  in 


206  OCTOBER 

these  seven  years  that  have  elapsed  since  I  first 
took  my  garden  in  hand.  It  would  be  quite  easy 
to  make  a  respectable  list  of  plants  that  never  go 
wrong,  of  which  I  might  take  as  a  type  the  orange 
pot-marigold,  called  calendula  officinalis,  or  the 
common  Michaelmas  daisy,  which  hold  their  own 
with  the  rankest  weeds.  But  the  question  the 
earnest  gardener  should  ask  is  not  "What  can  I 
grow?"  but  "Why  have  I  failed  to  grow  such-and- 
such  things?"  If  we  decline  on  the  lowest  plane 
of  floriculture  we  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  getting 
flowers,  but  whether  these  will  be  worth  growing 
or  not  is  quite  a  different  matter. 

The  answer  to  the  question  which  I  have 
indicated  is  not  always  easy  to  find.  Frequently, 
of  course,  the  difficulty  lies  in  the  nature  of  the 
soil,  or  in  the  position  of  the  border.  But  these 
disabilities  more  often  than  not  cannot  be  avoided. 
Another  and  a  more  likely  reason  may  be  the 
grower's  ignorance  of  the  necessities  of  the  plant. 
For  instance,  it  would  be  foolish  to  try  to  grow 
annual  sunflowers  in  a  four-inch  pot  on  a  window- 
sill  in  Bayswater,  and  no  one  who  knew  what  the 
sunflower  likes  and  dislikes  would  attempt  such 
a  thing.  The  difficulty  of  getting  fine  blossoms 
would  be  insuperable.  But  there  are  difficulties 
which  are  not  insuperable,  and  a  few  of  these  may 
be  worth  considering. 

The  gardener,  like  the  meteorologist,  must  be 
always  looking  ahead.  To  think  of  the  future 
is  a  necessary  preliminary  to  success ;  to  forget 
it  is  to  court  failure.  Every  gardener  should  take 
as  a  motto  the  word  "  Prepare."  Prepare  for  the 


OCTOBER  207 

next  season,  for  the  future,  for  next  year,  or  even 
for  two  years  hence.  To  neglect  this  foresight 
may  entail  a  long  chain  of  failures  which  no  amount 
of  subsequent  energy  will  be  able  to  turn  to 
success. 

Pansies,  in  a  southern  county  at  any  rate,  are 
generally  a  failure,  and  the  chief  cause  is  the  want 
of  partial  shade  and  moisture.  To  grow  pansies  to 
perfection  the  seed  must  be  sown  in  boxes  in  May, 
each  seed  being  dropped  at  a  distance  of  an  inch  or 
so  from  its  neighbour.  This  sounds  a  wearisome 
occupation,  but  it  is  not  so  trying  as  it  would 
appear,  and  the  number  of  boxes  needed  is  a  much 
more  serious  matter  if  a  goodly  collection  of  seed- 
lings is  desired.  They  should  be  pricked  out  into 
a  half-shady  bed  as  soon  as  they  are  fit  to  handle, 
and  transferred  to  permanent  quarters  in  September. 
The  best  position  is  one  sheltered  from  the  midday 
sun,  so  that  their  succulent  shoots  may  not  be 
exposed  to  the  worst  heats  of  summer.  A  good 
watering  at  night  with  tepid  rain  water  will  help  to 
extend  their  flowering  season,  and  an  essential  to 
this  end  is  to  pick  off  the  blossoms  as  they  fade. 
Nothing  in  animal  nature  is  expected  to  perform  all 
the  functions  of  life  at  one  time,  and  it  is  unreason- 
able to  expect  flowers  to  bloom,  to  set  seed,  and  to 
push  out  new  growth  together.  While  they  are 
ripening  seed  they  cannot  properly  be  expected  to 
do  anything  else. 

Coreopsis  grandiflora  is  a  valuable  herbaceous 
plant  which  generally  disappears  after  a  year  or 
two.  We  learn  in  books  that  it  is  a  perennial,  but 
experience  is  at  variance  with  the  writers  of  books 


208  OCTOBER 

in  this  regard.  One  or  two  of  them  have  said  that 
the  plant  renews  itself  when  in  autumn  it  exhibits 
side  shoots  which  have  not  flowered  in  the  summer 
previous.  This  may  be  true,  though  not  invariably, 
and  I  do  not  know  how  the  plants  are  to  be  treated 
to  make  true  perennials  of  them,  if  indeed  this  may 
be  done.  But  in  borders  that  are  not  dug  over — 
and  no  properly  established  border  should  ever  be 
so  rudely  treated — the  seeds  will  sow  themselves 
from  year  to  year,  so  that  in  a  few  summers, 
instead  of  the  single  parent  plant,  there  will  be 
a  colony  of  seedlings  extending  themselves  yearly 
until  they  become  a  mighty  nation,  unless  anything 
happens  to  stamp  them  out.  Another  sort  of 
coreopsis,  that  called  lanceolata,  is  a  real  perennial, 
and  does  not  require  the  attention  demanded  by  the 
larger  and  earlier  variety. 

I  cannot  quite  understand  why  mignonette  is  such 
a  fickle  plant.  I  sow  ounces  of  seed  in  all  direc- 
tions, but  often  enough  none  comes  up.  I  fancy 
the  chief  reason  is  that  the  cold  winds  and  late 
frosts  of  May  kill  the  germinating  property  at  its 
birth.  The  best  plan  is  to  make  a  series  of  sow- 
ings, when  some  will  probably  do  well.  It  does 
not  matter  if  the  seeds  come  up  sparsely,  for  one 
plant  will  cover  a  large  area  if  the  conditions  are 
suitable.  In  fact,  if  the  seeds  come  up  plentifully, 
a  severe  thinning  will  be  necessary  to  ensure  the 
best  results. 

Why  do  most  of  my  columbines  turn  into  old 
women's  bonnets  ?  I  cannot  say,  but  it  certainly  is 
the  nature  of  the  plant  to  revert  to  the  primitive 
type.  Some  of  the  best  seedlings  after  a  summer's 


OCTOBER  209 

flowering  disappear,  and  in  their  place  I  see  plants 
whose  flowers,  instead  of  being  pale  mauve  or  clear 
yellow,  are  of  a  dusky  purple.  No  herb  can  sur- 
pass this  one  for  perpetuating  its  kind.  To  exter- 
minate it  requires  much  patience,  for  it  seeds  itself 
in  every  nook  and  cranny,  and  throws  a  long  tap 
root  down  into  the  depths  which  clings  so  fast  that 
a  prong  will  hardly  dislodge  it. 

A  family  that  hates  root  disturbance  is  that  of 
the  hellebores,  or  Christmas  and  Lenten  roses. 
Seldom  it  is  that  these  beautiful  winter  flowers  are 
seen  growing  to  perfection.  To  get  them  well 
established  is  the  first  necessity,  and  to  give  them 
relief  from  summer  sun  and  drought  is  the  second. 
It  is  not  good  to  move  these  clumps  at  all,  but  if  for 
any  reason  moving  must  be  done,  then  moving  and 
dividing  may  be  accomplished  together  in  the 
height  of  summer  when  the  plants  are  in  full 
vigour.  A  fresh  growth  will  heal  the  wounds  of 
separation  if  it  is  done  at  that  time.  A  glass  frame 
will  be  wanted  in  winter  if  the  flowers  are  to  be 
protected  from  the  frost  and  rain  that  would  dis- 
colour them.  The  frame  will  help  also  to  lengthen 
the  flower  stalks,  and  thus  make  them  more  useful 
for  cutting. 

Nothing  is  easier  to  grow  well  in  our  borders  than 
the  Spanish  iris,  and  by  all  the  rules  of  common 
sense  they  should  flourish  as  well  in  the  long  grass 
of  the  wild  garden  as  elsewhere.  Garden  manuals 
assert  that  they  delight  in  a  dry,  light  soil,  and 
practical  gardeners  who  write  to  the  horticultural 
journals  are  fond  of  affirming  that  they  also  enjoy 
the  company  of  long  grass.  I  have  not  found  it  so. 
p 


210  OCTOBER 

I  raised  a  goodly  number  from  seed,  and  bought 
many  more,  and  planted  them  all  over  a  corner  of 
the  orchard.  The  first  summer  I  had  a  fair  number 
of  flowers,  the  second  none,  and  it  is  certain  that 
this  bareness  was  not  due  to  any  destruction  of  the 
leaves  by  the  scythe,  for  the  grass  was  not  mown 
until  August. 


NOVEMBER 


Nov.  T  HAVE  been  placed  in  an  awkward  pre- 
6*  JL  dicament,  and  have  overheard  an  offer 
of  marriage,  or  what  practically  amounts  to  it.  But 
there  is  a  story  attached  which  involves  a  retro- 
spect. 

Three  months  ago  there  died  in  our  village  a 
blacksmith  named  Bill  Werge,  the  brother  of  Ster- 
culus  and  of  Meshach.  He  was  just  over  middle 
age,  and  had  not  married,  and  as  he  was  a  saving 
man  he  had  amassed  a  little  fortune,  as  village  for- 
tunes go.  At  any  rate,  he  owned  his  forge  and  the 
cottage  he  lived  in,  as  well  as  the  one  occupied  by 
his  mother,  and  another  that  adjoined  it  under  the 
same  roof.  He  left  the  forge  to  Sterculus,  who 
promptly  sold  it  and  put  the  money  out  at  interest, 
being  more  enterprising  than  other  villagers  who 
have  not  travelled  so  far  as  Northumberland.  The 
cottage  occupied  by  his  mother  he  bequeathed  to 
her,  and  the  one  next  door  to  Meshach.  Meshach 
had  always  been  his  favourite,  and  he  left  him  a 
parting  message  as  well. 

"  Tell  him  he'll  have  the  cottage  that's  let  to  Mrs. 
Bidstraw  wi'  the  apple  tree  a-hangin'  over  it.  Tell 

211 


212  NOVEMBER 

him  there's  a  treasure  there  all  for  him — to  seek  for 
—to  work  for "  And  then  he  died. 

I  know  the  whole  story,  for  Nancy  Bidstraw  told 
it  to  me. 

Meshach  could  not  enter  upon  his  inheritance 
because  the  cottage  was  let  to  Mrs.  Bidstraw  on  a 
yearly  tenancy.  But  he  hankered  after  the  treasure 
and  felt  sure  that  he  knew  the  spot  where  it  was 
buried.  Everyone  who  has  a  treasure  to  hide 
buries  it  under  a  tree.  The  apple  tree  was  the  only 
tree  in  the  garden  worthy  of  the  name,  and  beneath 
it  the  treasure  was  buried.  Meshach  could  not  get 
possession  of  the  property,  but  he  could  look  at  the 
place  where  his  treasure  lay. 

He  strode  across  the  fence  one  evening  and 
knocked  at  Mrs.  Bidstraw's  door.  It  was  opened 
by  Nancy. 

"Good  evening,  Meshach,"  said  Nancy. 

Stupid  Meshach  did  not  detect  the  light  that 
came  into  her  dark  eyes  when  she  saw  him  standing 
on  the  door-sill,  nor  the  faint  blush  which  mounted 
into  her  olive  cheek.  He  was  thinking  only  of  his 
inheritance,  and  not  at  all  of  Nancy.  He  had  never 
thought  of  Nancy,  though  they  had  lived  next  door 
to  each  other  all  their  lives. 

"  Do  you  want  to  turn  us  out,  Meshach  ? "  she 
asked  in  pleading  tones. 

"  No,"  said  Meshach. 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  mother?  She's  gone  to 
Oldborough." 

"No,  I  don't  know  as  I  do." 

"  Is  it  me  you  want  to  see,  then  ?  "  asked  Nancy, 
smiling. 


NOVEMBER 


213 


"  Not  partic'lar,"  answered  he. 
"  Then  what  do  you  want  ?  "  she  cried,  losing  her 
patience  and  flushing  with  indignation. 


"IS   IT   ME  YOU   WANT  TO  SEE?" 


"  I  want  to  dig  a  bit  under  the  apple  tree  to- 
morrer  with  Mrs.  Bidstraw's  leave." 

"To  find  the  treasure?"  asked  Nancy  mis- 
chievously. 


214  NOVEMBER 

"  Ah  !  "  assented  Meshach. 

"  What  makes  you  think  there's  a  treasure  there  ?" 

"Bill  said  there  was.  He  said  I  was  to  dig  under 
the  apple  tree  until  I  come  to  buried  treasure." 

"  Come  out  to  the  apple  tree,"  said  Nancy. 

They  went  out  of  the  cottage  and  stood  in  the 
little  patch  of  garden  at  the  back  on  which  the  old 
apple  tree  grew.  At  the  side  of  the  house  was  a 
well-tended  flower  garden,  and  behind  was  a  plot 
stocked  with  vegetables.  Under  the  apple  tree  was 
a  carpet  of  green  turf. 

"It's  such  a  pity  to  dig  this  up,"  said  Nancy. 

"  I  must  if  I  be  to  find  the  treasure." 

"  Maybe  your  brother  didn't  mean  that  the  trea- 
sure was  a  buried  one." 

"  What  else  could  he  ha'  meant  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Nancy  carelessly. 
"  Where  do  you  think  you'll  find  it  ?  Here  ?  " 

She  was  standing  close  to  the  tree,  and  as  I 
know  Nancy  Bidstraw  very  well  indeed,  I  can 
picture  the  wicked  way  in  which  her  dark  eyes 
met  his. 

"  I  dunno." 

"  Or  here  ?  "  moving  to  the  wall  of  the  house. 
"  Do  you  think  'tis  here  ?" 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Meshach  again. 

"  Or  here  ?  "  going  to  the  garden  hedge. 

"  I  dunno,"  repeated  the  young  man  stupidly. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  you  do  know,"  cried  Nancy, 
with  irritation;  "an1  what's  more  I  don't  believe  you 
ever  will  know.  Bill  knew,  but  he  couldn't  get  it." 

"  Couldn't  get  it !  Not  his  own  treasure  ?  "  cried 
Meshach  in  open-mouthed  amazement. 


NOVEMBER  215 

"  No,  he  couldn't  get  it." 

-Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  wouldn't  let  him." 

"  But  how  could  you  hinder  him?  The  garden 
was  hisn,  an'  the  house  too.  How  could  you  hinder 
him  ? " 

"  Never  mind  how.  I  did  hinder  him,  anyway. 
Would  you  turn  us  out,  Meshach,  if  I  was  to  hinder 
you  gettin'  the  treasure  you're  wantin'  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  would!"  said  Meshach  firmly. 

"  I  haven't  no  patience  with  you — you  be  so 
silly  ! "  cried  Nancy.  And  she  turned  away  in  a 
rage  and  ran  into  the  cottage,  leaving  Meshach 
to  wonder  what  ailed  the  maid  that  she  should  get 
so  red. 

He  brought  spade  and  pick  the  next  morning, 
and  began  by  removing  the  turf.  The  patch  seemed 
as  though  it  had  never  been  tilled  ;  great  stones 
came  up  with  the  earth,  and  the  ground  was  as  hard 
as  iron  under  his  tools. 

He  dug  for  the  whole  of  that  day.  He  dug  deep 
and  he  dug  wide.  His  pick  struck  the  foundations 
of  the  house  on  the  hither  side  of  the  patch,  and 
still  he  found  nothing.  Nancy  came  out  when  he 
was  putting  his  tools  together  and  laughed  at  him. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Moonraker,"  she  said — for  Meshach 
was  a  Wiltshireman  by  birth — "  have  you  found  the 
treasure  yet  ? " 

"  No,  but  I'll  find  it  to-morrow,"  said  Meshach 
doggedly. 

"  Maybe!"  replied  Nancy. 

The  next  day  he  dug  through  the  gravel  path 
well  up  into  the  garden,  and  close  to  the  sty  which 


216  NOVEMBER 

sheltered  Mrs.  Bidstraw's  fat  bacon-pig  ;  and  in  the 

evening  Nancy  jeered  at  him  again. 

"  Well,    Mr.    Moonraker,    have    you   found    the 

treasure  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Meshach. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  help  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  would — if  you  can,  Vevver." 

"  If  I  can  !     I  could  help  you  a  deal  more'n  you 


THE   FAT   BACON-PIG 


know,  but  I'm  not  sure  you  deserve  to  be  helped. 
You  ought  to  be  man  enough  to  do  wi'out  help." 

"  I've  worked  hard  enough  to-day  for  two  men," 
said  Meshach,  wiping  his  brow  with  irritation. 

"  Too  hard.  It  isn't  diggin'  that's  wanted  for 
findin'  treasure  in  these  days  ;  it's  sense  an'  insight, 
an'  the  power  of  knowin'  what's  good  when  you 
see  it." 

"  You  talk  as  if  you  knowed  where  the  treasure 
is,"  said  young  Meshach  sulkily. 

"  Maybe  I  do." 

He  caught  her  by  the  hand.     I  was  in  the  kitchen 


WELL,   MR.  MOONRAKER,   HAVE  YOU  FOUND  THE  TREASURE?" 


NOVEMBER  217 

and  saw  it,  and  so  did  Mrs.  Werge.  And  Nancy 
knew  that  we  could  see  it,  for  the  garden  is  com- 
manded by  the  kitchen  window,  and  she  had  left  us 
but  a  few  minutes  before. 

"Tell  me,  Nancy,"  said  Meshach  ;  "  tell  me,  an' 
I'll  give  you " 

"  What'll  you  give  me  ?  " 

"What'd  you  like  best?" 

"  Oh,  something  golden — a  gold  locket,  or  maybe 
a  gold  ring." 

"I'll  give   you  a  gold  locket    an'   a   gold    ring 


TWO   NAUGHTY   GIRLS   CAME   BY 


too  if  you'll  tell  me  where  the  treasure  is,"  pleaded 
Meshach. 

"  I  don't  believe  you'll  ever  give  me  a  gold 
locket  an'  a  gold  ring  unless  I  tell  you  where  it  is, 
you  great  silly.  You  great  big,  blind,  stupid  old 
silly ! " 

Two  naughty  girls  came  by,  and  giggled  over 
the  garden  hedge.  They  nudged  each  other  in  the 
side  and  exploded  in  fits  of  laughter,  while  young 
Meshach  glowered  at  them  from  the  naked  roots  of 


218  NOVEMBER 

the  apple  tree.  But  they  stood  still  and  laughed 
unabashed. 

"  Look  at  Meshach  Werge  an'  his  treasure  !"  they 
said. 

"  Where  ?  "  cried  Meshach.  But  the  girls  had 
passed  and  Nancy  was  blushing. 

"  What  do  they  mean,  Nancy  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  you,  Meshach  ?  " 

"  Ain't  there  a  treasure  after  all  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  think  there  ain't." 

"  But  be  there,  do  you  think?" 

"  I  think  maybe  you  might  come  to  think 
there  is." 

"  But  where,  then  ?" 

Nancy  went  up  to  the  wall  of  the  house  and 
stood  beside  it,  and  tapped  the  earth  with  her  foot. 

"  I  think  it  might  be  just  here,"  she  said. 

"  But  I've  looked  just  there." 

"  An'  there  ain't  no  treasure  ?  " 

"  Nary,"  replied  Meshach  mournfully. 

Nancy  went  close  up  to  the  apple  tree  and  stood 
beneath  it. 

"  I  think  you  might  find  it  just  here." 

"  But  I've  looked  just  there.  I've  dug  it  all  up. 
I  don't  believe  there  isn't  no  treasure.  Is  there, 
Nancy  ? " 

"  Not  if  you  think  there  isn't,  Meshach." 

11  He  said  it  was  under  the  apple  tree." 

-Well?" 

"  An'  there's  nothin'  under  the  apple  tree." 

"  Nothin',  Meshach,  except — me." 

Meshach  looked  stupidly  at  her  for  the  space 
of  a  minute,  and  then  a  great  light  overspread  his 


NOVEMBER  219 

honest    countenance.      He    caught  naughty  Nancy 
in  his  arms. 

"  My  pretty  dear !  "  he  cried. 


"  I  never  did  hold  wi'  young  married  folks  a-livin' 
wi'  older  persons,"  said  Mrs.  Werge  insistently  to 
a  hearer  whom  she  thought,  I  am  sure,  exceedingly 
dull  of  comprehension.  "  An'  if  they  likes  to  take 
that  cottage  at  the  bottom  o'  the  hill  I  shan't  put 
naught  in  their  way.  But  I  wun't  turn  out  o' 
thissen,  not  fer  no  Meshachs  as  ever  was,  an'  they's 
best  not  try  at  it." 

For  her  there  was  no  beautiful  idyll,  but  only 
a  foresight  of  future  personal  discomfort. 

Nov.  14.  There  are  plenty  of  flowers  still 
blooming  out  of  doors.  One  of  the  most  useful 
is  the  Margaret  carnation,  cut  from  plants  carefully 
disbudded  in  late  summer  to  ensure  an  autumn 
harvest.  Plumbago  larpentce,  with  its  lovely  blue 
colouring,  is  useful  for  cutting,  though  it  must  be 
grown  in  some  quantity  if  more  than  a  handful 
of  sprays  is  required.  There  are  also  coreopsis 
grandiflora  and  lanceolata,  phlox  drummondi,  pent- 
stemon  barbatus,  var.  Torreyi,  antirrhinum ,  and  a 
score  of  other  things  in  small  quantity.  For 
although  dahlias  have  been  cut  down  by  the  frost 
these  hardier  things  are  left.  Under  glass  also 
there  is  no  lack  of  blossom,  though  in  less  variety. 
Chrysanthemums  are  beginning  to  make  a  grand 
show.  Charles  Davis  and  Viviand  Morel  are  at 
their  best,  and  to  my  mind  these  are  two  of  the 
most  satisfactory  varieties  for  the  amateur.  With 


220  NOVEMBER 

ordinary  attention  they  make  handsome  flowers 
as  well  as  good  ornamental  plants,  and  they  never 
seem  subject  to  the  chances  and  changes  which 
affect  newer  kinds.  Madame  Carnot  is  another 
excellent  one.  It  never,  to  be  sure,  does  its  best 
except  in  the  hands  of  the  expert,  but  its  second 
best  is  so  consoling  that  no  one  need  fear  to  grow 
it.  Other  good  sorts  are  G.  J.  Warren  and  Mrs. 
Mease,  sports  from  Madame  Carnot ;  R.  H.  Pear- 
son, Phoebus,  Golden  Gate,  and  a  kind  little  known 
called  Silver  Cloud.  It  is  not  a  monster  bloom, 
and  has  consequently  dropped  out  of  most  of  the 
catalogues,  but  it  should  be  grown  for  its  warm 
coppery  cream  colour,  which  is  like  no  other  that 
I  know.  Another  good  variety,  though  hardly  up 
to  exhibition  form,  is  Monsieur  Gruyer,  which  is 
invaluable  for  late  cutting.  Plants  of  it  kept  out 
in  the  open  all  through  the  autumn  until  the  flowers 
show  colour,  and  then  sheltered  in  a  cold  shed 
at  night  only,  will  last  on  until  nearly  the  end  of 
January.  The  stiff,  firm  petals  make  it  an  excellent 
variety  for  keeping  back,  and  I  know  none  more 
satisfactory  for  this  purpose. 

I  do  not  care  to  grow  the  big  plate-like  blossoms 
which  many  growers  aim  at.  My  object  is  to  have 
flowers  for  cutting,  and  although  we  disbud  freely, 
we  are  never  left  with  fewer  than  nine  blooms  on  a 
plant.  Large  flowers  are  suitable  for  shows,  but 
for  no  other  purpose  ;  and  the  amateur  who  is 
content  with  a  diameter  of  six  or  seven  inches 
is  wise. 

Violets  are  very  plentiful  just  now,  especially  the 
beautiful  Princess  of  Wales  and  the  double  Marie 


NOVEMBER  221 

Louise.  Christmas  roses — also  in  frames — are 
doing  well.  Primulas,  zonal  pelargoniums,  fibrous- 
rooted  begonias,  Roman  hyacinths,  and  paper- white 
and  double  Roman  narcissi  are  among  the  flowering 
plants  under  glass.  Everything  looks  healthy,  and 
there  is  a  great  promise  of  blossom  for  days  even 
darker  than  November. 

"  The  blackest  month  of  all  the  year 
Is  the  month  of  Janniveer," 

and  for  "  Janniveer "  I  time  my  best  show,  that 
it  may  cheer  us  in  the  gloomy  season  when  winter 
holds  us  tight  in  his  grip,  and  spring  seems  a 
happiness  very  far  off. 

November  is  the  favourite  month  of  Sterculus. 
He  calls  it  not  November,  but  "dungin'  time,"  and 
counts  all  his  garden  operations  from  it,  as  well  as 
his  domestic  episodes.  "  I  lost  my  Cousin  Jemps 
a  twelvemonth  ago  last  dungin'  time,"  he  will  tell 
you,  or,  "  I  allus  begins  to  strike  my  gerzanthums 
d'reckly  after  dungin'  time."  "  Loffly  stuff!"  he 
says  meditatively,  looking  at  some  special  mixture, 
"  it's  a  pleasure  to  get  your  'ands  into  it."  It  is 
a  pleasure,  however,  that  he  is  forced  to  enjoy  all 
by  himself,  as  I  cannot  raise  much  enthusiasm  over 
that  part  of  the  gardening  work. 

November  is  not  the  most  busy  of  months  in  the 
garden,  but  I  do  not  know  any  month  in  which  the 
gardener  can  with  impunity  be  idle.  This  is  the 
best  time  to  sow  sweet  peas  for  next  summer's 
enjoyment,  and  the  only  drawback  to  the  practice 
is  the  habit  of  mice  to  eat  the  seeds  or  ever  they 
germinate.  But  mice  are  the  garden  pests  which 
are  the  most  easily  circumvented.  We  soak  the 


222  NOVEMBER 

peas  for  an  hour  or  more  in  paraffin,  and  while  they 
are  moist  roll  them  generously  in  red  lead  and  plant 
at  once.  I  have  never  lost  seed  so  treated,  and  the 
trouble  is  hardly  worth  taking  into  account. 

Roses  must  be  planted  now,  and  so  must  briers, 
if  budding  is  to  be  done  next  July.  I  find  the  very 
best  autumn  rose  is  Ulrich  Brunner.  About  the 
end  of  September  the  bed  planted  with  these  began 
to  show  flower  as  plentifully  as  if  the  month  had 
been  June,  and  it  has  been  bristling  with  bloom 
ever  since.  We  cut  the  buds  in  a  half-expanded 
state,  as  rough  winds  would  spoil  the  full-blown 
blossoms.  There  are  many  roses  which  flower 
in  the  autumn,  but  there  are  few  that  produce 
decent  specimens  at  this  time.  La  France,  for 
instance,  still  goes  freely  on,  but  the  delicate  petals 
are  ruined  by  the  wind  and  by  morning  frosts,  so 
that  very  few  are  fit  to  gather. 

Spiraeas  for  forcing  are  being  potted  and  placed 
in  a  cold  frame,  with  a  covering  of  fibre  over  the 
crowns.  Backward  primulas  are  being  shifted  into 
their  flowering  pots.  Begonias  are  laid  on  their 
sides  in  the  pots  in  which  they  bloomed,  under 
the  greenhouse  stage.  Dahlias  and  tender  gladioli, 
which  have  been  left  out  so  long  in  consequence 
of  the  autumn's  mildness,  are  being  stored  in  a 
cellar  for  the  winter.  The  last  of  the  wallflowers 
are  to  be  planted  to-day,  and  I  am  also  making 
large  patches  of  crocuses  under  two  big  elm  trees 
at  the  edge  of  the  wild  garden.  Anemone  fulgens 
is  also  to  be  put  out  in  borders.  This  is  an  annual 
operation  with  us,  and  the  disappointment  is  as 
regular,  for  I  cannot  get  them  to  do  well. 


NOVEMBER  223 

My  great  difficulty  in  November  is  to  prevail 
upon  Sterculus  to  keep  the  fire  in  the  greenhouse 
low  enough.  His  aim  and  ideal  in  life  is  to  force 
things  on,  mine  to  keep  things  back  at  this  season, 
for  we  shall  want  them  more  later.  Moreover, 
plants  get  badly  drawn  if  they  have  too  much 
warmth  just  now,  and  then  their  appearance  suffers. 
All  that  is  necessary  is  to  keep  out  the  damp  by 
day  and  the  frost  by  night,  and  a  large  fire  is  not 
needed  at  present  to  these  ends.  In  the  frames, 
too,  plenty  of  air  is  required,  and  there  is  no  day 
at  this  season  when  the  inclement  elements  must 
be  entirely  excluded.  An  inch  or  two  of  air  will 
not  hurt  any  of  the  plants  by  day,  though  care 
must  be  taken  that  all  is  made  safe  and  snug  by 
night. 

I  am  thankful  to  say  that  my  nephew  and  niece 
left  me  to-day,  and  I  am  able  to  breathe  freely 
again.  The  children  of  the  present  day  seem  to 
enshrine  incredible  hardness  under  covering  as 
beautiful  as  an  angel's.  The  modern  child  is 
pleasing  only  as  a  study,  because  he  is  in  process 
of  formation  by  a  new  system  which  keeps  its  good 
results  for  the  very  end  of  the  operation.  I  am 
bound  to  admit  that  these  results  are  a  great  deal 
more  desirable,  say,  at  the  age  of  eighteen  or 
twenty  than  those  which  at  a  similar  age  were 
visible  in  young  people  of  the  preceding  genera- 
tion. The  timid,  clinging  type  of  girl,  the  shy, 
rude  type  of  lad  have  given  place  to  others  whose 
distinguishing  characteristic  is  independence  and 
self-reliance.  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that 
Basil  and  Edith  will  be  charming  young  people 


224  NOVEMBER 

in  a  few  years'  time,  but  the  interval  may  have  its 
drawbacks  for  their  relatives. 

They  are  very  outspoken  and  truthful,  like  most 
children  of  the  moment,  and  not  at  all  greedy. 
Here  is  a  specimen  of  the  conversation  which  took 
place  at  luncheon  the  day  after  their  arrival  :— 

"  Aren't  you  hungry,  Basil?  Why  don't  you  eat 
your  ham  ?" 

"  I  don't  want  it,  thank  you." 
"  Don't  you  like  ham  ?  " 
"  I  like  nice  ham,  thank  you." 
"  Will  you  have  some  pudding,  Edith  ?" 
"  No,    thank    you,    Uncle    Jim.       I     never    eat 
pudding." 

"Indeed!     Why  not  ?" 

"  Because  I  don't  want  to  be  as  fat  as  auntie." 
11  Won't  you  finish  your  chicken,  Basil  ?  " 
"  No,  thank  you  ;  I've  had  half  enough  already, 
and   I   want  to  keep  the  other  half  for  the  apple 
tart." 

All  this  with  perfect  propriety  of  demeanour  and 
without  the  slightest  intention  of  rudeness.  They 
have  no  reticences,  but  speak  out  their  thoughts  as 
a  matter  of  course.  Their  mother  never  allows 
them  to  be  reproved,  no  matter  what  they  may  say  or 
do.  She  tells  me  that  it  is  not  the  custom  nowadays. 
To  admonish  a  child  for  rudeness  or  for  disobedi- 
ence might  cure  a  bad  habit,  but  would  for  ever 
destroy  the  confidence  which  exists  between  child 
and  parent.  Perfect  naturalness  and  complete 
confidence  are  the  two  desirable  qualities  to 
encourage  in  children,  and  nothing  must  be  done 
to  stifle  them.  When  I  was  a  child  I  was  subject 


NOVEMBER  225 

to  periodical  "squashings,"  to  cure  some  trick  of 
vanity,  or  of  temper,  or  of  idleness.  Children 
brought  up  on  modern  methods  are  never  squashed. 
They  learn  their  faults  through  observing  them  in 
other  people ;  they  cure,  or  perhaps  only  conceal  them 
of  their  own  initiative,  because  these  faults  make 
their  possessors  ridiculous,  or  tiresome,  or  despic- 
able. The  moral  education  of  children  is  thus 
practically  left  to  themselves,  and  self-government, 
instead  of  beginning  at  the  age  of  eighteen  or  so, 

o  o  o  o 

frequently  ends  there.  The  results,  at  the  moment 
when  the  girl  breaks  into  womanhood  or  the  boy 
develops  into  the  man,  are  beautiful  to  the  outward 
eye,  but  the  process,  as  I  have  said,  is  irritating  to 
the  mere  observer. 

Basil  writes  what  he  chooses  to  call  poetry,  and 
this  morning,  before  he  went  away,  he  gave  me  as 
a  parting  gift  his  latest  verses,  written  in  capitals  on 
the  fly-leaf  of  Ibsen's  Doll's-house,  in  which,  I 
presume,  the  children  had  hoped  to  find  a  story  to 
their  liking.  But  so  well  am  I  learning  my  lesson 
that  I  did  not  scold  him  for  defacing  the  volume,  for 
fear  of  destroying  the  small  amount  of  confidence 
which  exists  between  us. 

"To  AUNTIE  FROM  BASIL. 
"  Writtn  after  the  Meat  of  Hownds. 
"  Just  as  the  fox 

Out  of  the  wood, 
Not  in  a  box, 
Wishes  he  could. 

"  Though  he  gets  chasd 

Till  he  gets  hot, 
Dosnt  make  haste, 
Therfore  gets  got." 


226  NOVEMBER 

"  Writen  on  Sunday. 

"  Good  peeple  always  go  to  church, 
Good  peepul  never  nead  the  birch, 
But  leeve  the  wicked  in  the  lerch, 

Alleluia." 

These  verses  inscribed  on  my  Doll*  s-house 
recall  an  incident  of  its  purchase.  I  asked  Petunia 
to  order  it  for  me  from  our  local  bookseller,  who  is 
an  entirely  omniscient  person  where  books  are 
concerned,  or  at  any  rate  so  he  thinks.  I  have 
never  yet  known  him  acknowledge  ignorance  of 
any  book  or  its  author.  Petunia  walked  into  his 
shop  and  demanded  a  copy  of  Ibsen's  Doll's-hoitse. 
Mr.  Moulton  knew  the  book  well,  but  did  not  stock 
it.  "  I  suppose  you  can  get  it,"  said  Petunia.  "  I 
will  get  it  with  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Moulton.  "It  is 
in  the  Juvenile  Series,  as  of  course  you  know." 

Nov.  15.  Petunia  is  one  of  those  persons  who  go 
in  for  periodical  hobbies.  She  talks  of  "  taking  up  " 
this  or  the  other,  an  expression  quite  detestable, 
because  it  seems  to  forebode  laying  it  down  again 
when  the  inevitable  day  of  boredom  comes.  But  one 
of  Petunia's  hobbies  has  been  pursued  for  so  many 
years  that  I  have  hopes  that  she  will  be  for  ever 
faithful  to  so  old  a  love.  She  is  a  field  naturalist, 
and  I  would  rather  go  for  a  walk  with  her  than  with 
any  other  person  I  know.  Her  eyes  are  every- 
where ;  nothing  escapes  them  ;  and  I  can  learn 
more  from  her  in  half  an  hour  by  a  roadside  than 
from  a  dozen  of  the  best  printed  authorities  in  any 
period  of  time  which  it  may  take  to  peruse  them. 
So,  to-day,  when  she  turned  up  at  luncheon-time 
and  informed  me  that  she  intended  to  spend  the 


NOVEMBER  227 

afternoon  in   Sole  Wood,    I   was  delighted   to   go 
with  her. 

Living  within  a  few  minutes'  walk  of  Sole,  not  to 
go  there  at  least  once  a  week  is  a  positive  sin  of 
omission.  It  is  a  beautiful  place.  The  short  herbage 
where  it  remains  is  a  wonderful  ochreous  tint,  as 
though  laid  on  with  opaque  colour.  Large  warm 
brown  patches  of  fir  needles  carry  on  the  tone 
scheme,  and  the  zigzag  paths  trodden  for  short  cuts 
by  farm  labourers  passing  through  are  of  the  same 
brown.  Most  of  the  trees  are  Scotch  firs,  but  there 
are  large  spaces  filled  up  with  the  pale  yellow  of 
larches,  shading  back  to  a  delicate  green  which 
blends  them  into  the  firs.  Beeches  and  hornbeams 
also  are  a  glorious  colour,  and  the  acres  of  six-foot 
fern  that  reach  far  away  over  the  hilly  ground,  and 
retire  from  other  parts  in  favour  of  heather  and 
the  yellow  grass,  give  softness  to  the  wood.  Such 
an  uneven  piece  of  ground  it  is,  sweeping  down  to 
a  hollow  in  which  a  small  rush-fringed  pond 
reflects  the  sky's  blue,  and  lends  itself  to  endless 
imaginings  of  extent  until  you  come  close  to  it  and 
realise  its  narrow  limits.  The  overflow  runs  away 
down  the  hill,  still  hiding  itself  in  the  midst  of 
woods,  and  tradition  has  it  that  a  communication 
exists  between  this  pond  and  the  river  in  the  valley 
a  mile  away.  To  prove  the  matter,  local  tradition 
continues  the  tale  by  telling  of  a  duck  which,  many 
years  since,  was  thrust  under  the  water  at  the  point 
where  the  subterranean  passage  was  supposed  to 
have  its  beginning,  and  was  subsequently  found 
swimming  gaily  on  the  distant  river.  The  evidence 
has  never  been  considered  inadequate,  and  the  point 


228  NOVEMBER 

is  reckoned  as  having  been  triumphantly  proved. 
But  there  is  endless  scope  for  tradition  at  Sole, 
which  is  possibly  the  old  Syntri  Weg,  or  Solitary 
Way,  of  Anglo-Saxon  charters. 

Coming  down  on  the  pond  the  water  looks  black, 
the  sky-line  being  so  high  that  only  the  dark  firs 
are  reflected.  A  delightful  water  plant,  the  leaves 
in  shape  like  an  adder's-tongue  fern,  covers  the 
edges  of  it,  and  great  bullrushes  stretch  out  far  into 
its  centre  in  irregular  patches.  Other  minuter 
growths  are  mixed  up  with  these ;  the  place  is 
a  very  paradise  for  the  pond  naturalist.  Flocks  of 
wood-pigeons  have  their  hiding-place  near  it,  and 
break  the  stillness  with  their  soft  cooing.  There 
are  fairy  rings,  too,  in  the  grassy  parts,  and  glorious 
pink  and  orange  toadstools  under  the  trees.  But 
words  are  feeble  and  inadequate  to  describe  the 
delights  hidden  away  in  those  few  acres  of  ground. 

I  am  generally  intent  during  a  walk  on  getting 
some  graceful  wild  bouquet  for  the  drawing-room, 
and  presently  as  we  went  along  we  came  upon  a 
sweet  brier,  dismantled  of  its  leaves,  but  gay  still 
with  beautiful  hips  not  yet  eaten  by  the  birds.  A 
Japanese  effect  in  the  old  incense  burner  was  plainly 
indicated,  and  I  was  in  the  act  of  cutting  a  fine 
branch  when  Petunia  grasped  me  by  the  arm. 

"  Take  care ! "  she  cried ;  "  oh,  it's  too  late. 
What  a  pity  ! " 

"  What  is  the  matter?"   I  asked. 

"  Do  you  notice  that  twig  swaying  a  little  as  you 
hold  it  ?  Look  at  it  closer — what  do  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see  a  little  brown  twig,  side  by  side  with  other 
little  brown  twigs." 


SOLE  POND 


NOVEMBER  229 

"Touch  it." 

I  touched  it,  and  the  little  branch  seemed 
suspiciously  soft. 

It  was  a  geometer  caterpillar,  so  cleverly  dis- 
guised that  I  positively  could  not  distinguish  it, 
except  by  feeling,  from  the  branch  which  supported 
it.  Wonderfully  had  this  insect  protected  itself  by 
its  extraordinary  resemblance  to  the  twig  on  which 
it  had  intended  to  spend  the  autumn.  The  hind 
claspers  fitted  tightly  into  a  groove  of  the  brier's 
main  stem,  the  head  and  true  legs  being  crumpled 
up  into  the  appearance  of  a  shrivelled-looking  twig. 
With  a  silken  thread  or  two  it  had  fastened  itself 
into  a  fairly  secure  position,  there  to  pass  its  time 
of  waiting  before  becoming  a  chrysalis. 

"  Show  me  something  else,"  I  said  to  Petunia. 

"  November  is  a  particularly  bad  time  for  finding 
examples  of  protective  resemblance,  but  we  will  go 
along  the  hedge  and  keep  our  eyes  open." 

We  kept  our  eyes  very  wide  open  indeed,  but 
nothing  happened  again  till  we  reached  the  pond. 
Petunia  would  have  told  me  the  Latin  name  of 
every  weed  in  it,  but  real  live  adventures  with 
caterpillars  or  other  insects  are  far  more  interesting 
to  my  mind  than  that  section  of  science  which  some- 
one has  described  as  "all  names  and  no  powers," 
and  so  we  raked  the  water  with  long  branches  to 
discover  fresh  wonders.  And,  sure  enough,  some- 
thing turned  up  at  last.  We  pulled  in  a  tendril  of 
the  pretty  American  weed  called  Anacharis,  and 
remarked  that  it  seemed  to  have  taken  to  growing 
by  side  shoots  instead  of  in  its  usual  straight  fashion. 
Abnormal  appearances  always  excite  Petunia,  and 


230  NOVEMBER 

she  examined  the  weed  very  carefully  as  it  lay  in 
the  water.  The  wind  blew  it  towards  us,  but  surely 
the  little  frond-like  excrescences  had  independent 
movements  of  their  own,  which  carried  them  back- 
wards against  the  wind  sometimes  for  a  moment. 
We  secured  a  portion  of  the  spray,  and  discovered 
that  the  lateral  fronds  were  in  reality  caddis  worms 
living  in  unwonted  houses.  Many  a  time  had  I 
found  them  moving  slowly  at  the  bottom  of  the 
water  in  their  tiny  tenements  composed  of  pebbles, 
sticks,  and  shells.  But  here  they  were  climbing 
near  the  surface  on  the  Anacharis,  which  they 
had  so  cunningly  imitated  with  little  bits  of  stalk 
bound  together  and  sticking  out  crossways,  that 
one's  first  impulse  was  to  suspect  the  weed  of  un- 
natural growth  rather  than  to  regard  that  growth 
as  the  home  of  a  little  colony  of  caddis  worms. 

"  Tell  me  more  about  caddis  worms,"  I  said  to 
Petunia. 

11 1  once  assisted  at  the  debut  of  eight,"  she 
answered,  "which  I  had  kept  in  a  bell-glass 
aquarium.  It  seemed  to  me  one  morning  that  the 
largest  of  them  looked  very  uncomfortable,  and 
appeared  to  be  struggling  inside  his  tight  little 
house.  At  last  he  wriggled  his  tail  out  of  it — 
a  very  ugly  little  tail.  I  had  never  before  seen 
more  of  him  than  his  head  and  four  of  his  front 
legs.  Wriggle,  wriggle,  wriggle,  he  went,  until  I 
thought  that  he  must  break  in  half,  but  I  found  he 
was  only  trying  to  discard  his  old  tail,  so  useful 
when  he  had  to  cling  to  his  house,  but  no  longer 
needed  when  he  was  starting  for  airier  regions. 
He  walked  painfully  up  a  small  twig,  and  when 


NOVEMBER  231 

he    reached    the    surface   of  the    water   he    waited 
awhile." 

1  'What  was  that  for?" 

"  Perhaps  to  take  more  breath,  but  no  doubt  also 
to  dry  his  new  clothes.  Very  mean  and  crumpled 
they  looked.  I  doubted  if  there  could  really  be 
four  serviceable  wings  tucked  away  in  so  small  a 
compass  ;  but  gradually  they  opened  out,  and  to  my 
delight  the  little  creature  spread  them  and  flew 
away  into  a  new  world." 

"  Do  you  think,"  I  asked,  "  that  he  would  find 
his  greater  dangers  compensated  by  his  larger  out- 
look upon  life  ?  Do  you  think  he  would  ever 
regret  the  monotony  and  the  comparative  safety  of 
his  watery  home  ?  Do  you  think— 

"  Don't  be  silly  !  "  said  Petunia. 

We  searched  in  the  deep  carpet  of  dead  leaves 
in  hopes  of  finding  a  butterfly  or  a  ladybird  tucked 
away  for  the  winter,  but  none  were  to  be  seen. 
The  total  way  in  which  the  common  butterflies 
contrive  to  disappear  with  the  sunshine  is  won- 
derful. Some  expose  themselves  freely  on  surfaces 
harmonising  with  their  colours,  but  they  are  none 
the  less  difficult  to  distinguish  even  though  the 
searcher  may  be  gazing  intently  at  them  the  while. 
Others  dig  down  among  thick  leaves,  or  are  buried 
by  autumnal  storms  to  emerge  safely  when  spring 
has  come  back  to  the  world.  A  remarkable  ex- 
ample of  protection  is  seen  in  the  Herald  Moth, 
which  manages  to  live  through  the  winter  in  com- 
plete safety.  It  is  a  bright  red  in  colour,  very 
similiar  to  a  dead  beech  leaf,  and  over  the  red  are 
scumbled  a  few  white  spots  resembling  fungoid 


232  NOVEMBER 

growth.  No  bird  would  want  to  eat  an  object 
which  appears  to  be  merely  a  piece  of  vegetable 
fungus.  But  the  moth  has  a  pair  of  bright  eyes, 
which  would  betray  its  identity  and  its  fitness  for 
food  to  the  enemy,  and  to  render  it  quite  secure 
these  eyes  must  be  hidden.  So  at  periods  of  rest 
it  covers  up  the  tell-tale  orbits  with  a  tuft  of  hair 
which  springs  from  beneath  the  antennae,  and  when 
spring  comes  and  the  moth  is  ready  to  fly  again  it 
can  bring  the  antennae  forward  to  shake  the  tufts 
from  before  the  eyes.  So  it  is  enabled  to  pass  the 
time  of  danger,  when  its  natural  adversaries  are 
hungry,  in  perfect  safety  ;  and  in  the  spring  there 
are  millions  of  other  insects  which  the  birds  may 
prefer,  so  that  it  may  live  to  die  a  natural  death 
probably  in  May  or  June. 

"  Now  do  use  your  own  eyes  for  once,"  said 
Petunia  in  her  uncomfortable,  rather  blatant  man- 
ner, as  she  stopped  before  a  bare  stretch  of  hedge 
on  our  way  home  and  put  on  her  professorial 
appearance. 

It  was  easy  enough  to  see — a  round  brown  case 
about  the  size  of  a  thimble,  but  without  any  open- 
ing for  the  finger.  It  was  hidden  away  among  the 
twigs  which  formed  the  hedge,  and  adhered  to  one 
of  these  twigs  quite  closely.  It  was  evidently  the 
home  of  some  insect,  and  he  had  contrived  it  so 
cleverly  that  it  would  have  been  cruel  to  disturb 
him  in  his  fancied  security.  It  was  quite  a  common 
insect,  Petunia  said,  with  the  simple  little  name  of 
Trichiosoma  tenthredion. 

"  I  once  took  a  similar  little  house  home  with 
me,"  she  said,  "  and  asked  a  learned  entomologist 


NOVEMBER 


233 


what  sort  of  insect  had  made  it.  But  although  he 
had  often  seen  it  he  had  never  taken  the  trouble  to 
watch  for  the  owner's  appearance  in  the  spring. 
He  could  not  bother  himself  with  anything  but 
lepidoptera." 


A   LEARNED    ENTOMOLOGIST 


"  But  I  thought  he  was  an  entomologist  ?  " 
"  He  was  a  specialist  entomologist,  and  the 
specialist  will  not  take  the  slightest  interest  in  a 
two-winged  insect  if  his  mind  is  set  on  collecting 
four-winged  insects,  although  the  most  interesting 
life-histories  may  be  going  on  under  his  nose." 


234  NOVEMBER 

"Then  how  did  you  find  out  about  the  little 
house  ?  " 

"  I  had  to  wait  several  months  until  its  owner 
showed  itself.  One  day  a  perfectly  clean  section 
was  cut  out  of  the  cocoon,  and  a  four-winged 
bee-like  insect  emerged.  I  did  not  know  any 

bee  which  was  in  the  habit  of  choosing  this  sort 

& 

of  residence  for  the  winter,  so  I  had  to  watch 
and  compare  until  I  finally  concluded  that  it  was 
a  sawfly." 

"  Then  why  did  he  look  like  a  bee  ? " 

''Thousands  of  years  ago  he  began  probably  to 
develop  a  little  bit  of  yellow  on  his  body,  and  in 
the  course  of  time  by  a  process  of  selection  he  be- 
came more  and  more  bee-like,  until  now  it  needs 
more  than  a  casual  glance  to  tell  the  two  apart. 
Bees  have  stings,  and  the  more  the  sawfly  resembled 
a  stinging  insect  the  more  likely  he  was  to  escape 
his  enemies.  Have  you  ever  noticed  towards  the 
end  of  the  summer  an  unusually  large  number  of 
big  buzzy  bees  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  have." 

"  Well,  those  big  buzzy  bees  are  nothing  more 
than  two-winged  flies  which  have  gradually  become 
so  like  bees  that  their  enemies — birds  as  well  as 
men — have  come  to  leave  them  alone,  though  they 
are  as  devoid  of  weapons  as  the  common  housefly. 
They  merely  imitate  the  bee  for  their  own  protec- 
tion." 

"What  a  joke  the  whole  thing  must  be  to  them ! 
Do  you  think  they  are  really  able  to  enjoy  it  ?  Are 
they  laughing  up  their  antennae  while  we  pass  them 
by  with  a  shudder  ?  " 


NOVEMBER  235 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  a  serious  subject  lightly 
treated.  Only  a  very  frivolous  person  or  an  idiot 
would  do  it." 

' 'And  which  am  I,  dear  Petunia?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  considered  you  frivo- 
lous," said  Petunia,  in  real  distress.  Nothing  but 
a  strict  sense  of  duty  could  make  her  hurt  my  feel- 
ings ;  but  this  sense — the  sixth  sense — is  very 
highly  developed  in  Petunia  as  in  many  other 
persons,  and  her  friends  sometimes  suffer  in  conse- 
quence. I  think  she  began  to  feel  sorry  that  she 
had  been  unkind,  so  she  brought  out  from  the 
region  of  her  heart  a  letter  received  a  week  or  two 
since  from  a  friend  in  South  Africa.  She  gave  me 
to  understand,  without  resorting  to  definite  words, 
that  the  friend  was  her  cousin,  Mr.  Jervis,  who  is  in 
the  South  African  Police  ;  but  I  am  not  sure  that 
this  is  fact.  Mr.  Mumby  has  never  been  properly 
accounted  for,  and  I  am  justified  in  suspending 
judgment  in  the  matter. 

"'The  beasts  here  are  a  very  cunning  lot,'"  she 
read,  "  '  and  their  mimicry  borders  on  dishonesty. 
Some  butterflies  have  wings  just  like  a  leaf,  with 
the  veining  and  all  complete,  and  there  are  others 
which  display  greater  cunning  than  that.  They 
know  that  some  of  their  friends  are  provided  with 
little  poison  bags,  which  render  them  exceeding 
harmful  to  the  tummies  of  birds  and  other  mur- 
derous foes.  Well,  these  little  creatures,  from 
financial  or  other  reasons,  can't  run  to  a  poison  bag, 
so  they  imitate  their  neighbours'  coats,  and  are 
gradually  discarding  their  own  national  dress,  so 
that  only  the  wily  naturalist  can  tell  them  from  the 


236  NOVEMBER 

poisonous  sort.  Where  foes  are  scarce  it  is  only 
the  lady  who  assumes  the  disguise  of  safety,  as  she 
has  to  stand  by  and  look  after  the  family  ;  but  the 
male  wears  his  old  uniform  like  a  man,  and  runs  the 
chance  of  getting  a  mauser  bullet  (or  its  equivalent) 
into  him.  Some  of  the  ladies  are  even  leaving  off 
wings,  and  they  pretend  it  is  because  it  makes  them 
look  like  stalks,  and  that  they  merely  do  it  so  as  not 
to  attract  attention  ;  but  I  fear  it  may  only  be  from 
some  slavish  following  of  fashion,  which  has  decreed 
that  wings  are  not  worn  this  year.  How  I  wish  I 
could  see  you—  Oh,  that  has  nothing  to  do 

with  the  subject !  "  said  Petunia,  hastily  folding  the 
letter. 

A  very  fascinating  book  to  which  Petunia  first 
directed  my  attention  is  Mr.  E.  B.  Poulton's  Colours 
of  Animals.  It  would  be  impossible  for  a  non- 
specialist  reader  to  give  any  just  idea  of  its  scope, 
but  even  the  ordinary  person  to  whom  the  subject 
is  interesting  may  be  permitted  to  enjoy  it  in  a 
semi  -  ignorant  fashion.  Mr.  Poulton  begins  by 
tracing  the  significance  of  colour  and  its  direct 
physiological  value,  and  then  proceeds  to  the  study 
of  protective  and  aggressive  resemblance  and 
mimicry.  Judging  from  my  own  case,  there  must 
be  many  persons  walking  this  globe  who  have  never 
made  use  of  their  eyes  until  perhaps  some  happy 
accident  or  the  casual  remark  of  a  naturalist  has 
forced  them  to  realise  that  even  in  nature  things 
are  not  always  what  they  seem. 

By  far  the  most  widespread  use  of  colour,  as  Mr. 
Poulton  points  out,  is  to  assist  an  animal  in  escaping 
from  its  natural  enemies,  or  in  securing  its  prey. 


NOVEMBER  237 

The  former  is  Protective,  the  latter  Aggressive 
Resemblance.  In  Protective  Resemblance  the 
animal  escapes  notice  by  harmonising  in  colour 
with  its  surroundings,  or  by  resembling  some  other 
creature  in  which  its  enemies  feel  no  interest. 
Sometimes  the  animal  will  resemble  an  object 
which  is  attractive  to  its  prey,  and  sometimes 
another  which  it  desires  to  injure.  These  various 
conditions  are  delightful  to  read  of  in  Mr.  Poulton's 
pages. 

Protective  mimicry  generally  shows  itself  in  the 
adoption  of  warning  colours,  which  are  assumed  to 
help  its  wearer  to  survive  natural  dangers.  I 
suppose  that  if  we  humans  were  merely  an  inferior 
race  of  beings  on  this  globe  and  liable  to  be  preyed 
upon  by  a  species  of  creatures  ten  times  our  size, 
our  first  object  in  life  would  be  so  to  protect  our- 
selves as  to  reduce  danger  to  the  smallest  possible 
dimensions.  If,  for  instance,  we  discovered  that 
our  enemies  never  ate  any  of  us  who  were  coloured 
a  vivid  scarlet,  I  imagine  that  by  degrees,  through 
a  process  of  selection,  we  should  develop  into 
scarlet  men  and  women  for  our  own  protection. 
The  giants,  in  the  first  instance,  would  have  some 
reason  for  avoiding  prey  of  this  colour.  Probably 
in  a  past  age  certain  of  their  ancestors,  when  men 
were  still  white,  would  have  come  upon  a  family  of 
bright  red  specimens,  and,  having  eaten,  developed 
an  indigestion  which  brought  them  to  an  untimely 
end.  The  other  giants  would  not  only  eschew 
scarlet  men,  but  would  fancy  that  everything  that 
resembled  a  scarlet  man  was  unfit  for  food.  And  so 
the  white  men  would  die  out  and  the  pale  pink  men 


238  NOVEMBER 

would  in  the  course  of  many  generations  be  repre- 
sented by  scarlet  descendants,  or  else  by  none. 

And  thus  it  is  with  insects  and  their  warning 
colours.  An  animal  that  "tastes  nasty"  is  wise  to 
advertise  the  fact,  and  those  that  feel  a  prejudice 
against  the  idea  of  being  eaten  are  also  wise  in 
imitating — though  unconsciously  and  unintentionally 
—those  which  are  unpleasant  to  the  taste,  so  that 
they  also  may  escape. 

There  are  many  examples  to  be  found  in  the 
insect  world.  The  ladybird  is  a  most  nauseous 
mouthful,  offensive  to  any  enemy  that  should 
attempt  to  make  a  meal  off  it.  It  is  coloured  red 
and  black  in  a  pattern  easily  recognisable,  and  thus 
escapes  destruction.  The  wasp  and  the  hornet  are 
provided  with  stings  which  might  cause  the  death 
of  an  attacking  enemy.  But  in  the  struggle  they 
also  might  die,  therefore  they  provide  themselves 
with  a  yellow  and  black  uniform  which  their  foes 
are  careful  to  avoid. 

But  there  are  many  insects  still  left  to  be  preyed 
upon — insects  perfectly  edible  and  quite  delicious 
to  the  palate,  and  these  have  to  protect  them- 
selves. They  set  about  doing  so,  in  many  cases, 
by  imitating  either  the  inedible  or  the  stinging- 
insects.  Some  of  the  moths  are  very  successful  in 
this  respect  ;  those,  for  instance,  which  are  called 
the  hornet  clear-winged  moths  carrying  their  re- 
semblance to  a  hornet  or  a  large  wasp  so  far  that 
many  human  beings  would  make  a  hasty  departure 
when  they  appeared.  These  moths  are  so  careful 
to  carry  out  the  illusion  that,  when  threatened,  they 
even  waggle  their  tails  about,  as  if  they  were  going 


NOVEMBER  239 

to  sting,  although  they  are  quite  devoid  of  the 
power  of  doing  so. 

In  the  Filippine  Islands  there  lives  a  grasshopper 
of  much  discernment.  He  has  remarked  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  ladybird,  and  its  immunity  from 
predatory  foes  ;  so  he  has  gradually  acquired  a 
rounded  shape  and  a  general  scheme  of  colour  imi- 
tating that  unpleasant  little  beetle,  and  thus  he 
escapes  his  enemies.  Another  example  is  that  of 
the  leaf-cutting  ant,  which  is  common  in  tropical 
America.  Every  ant,  when  he  goes  home  to  tea, 
carries  with  him  a  leafy  umbrella  about  the  size 
of  a  sixpence,  and  another  class  of  insects  in  the 
neighbourhood  also  make  a  point,  when  they 
are  going  home,  of  pretending  that  they  too  are 
indigestible  little  ants,  and  imitate  even  the  ant's 
leaf  very  closely  by  a  thin  expansion,  which  de- 
ceives all  but  the  most  acute  observer. 

There  are  spiders  which  imitate  ants,  and  hold 
their  forelegs  as  if  they  were  antennae.  They  know 
how  delicious  they  are  to  the  birds,  and  how  un- 
palatable are  the  ants,  so  they  protect  themselves 
by  mimicry.  And  some  South  American  cater- 
pillars even  imitate  snakes.  They  have  eye-like 
marks  on  each  side  of  two  of  the  body  rings,  and 
when  they  are  frightened  they  draw  their  rings 
together  in  such  a  way  as  to  exhibit  the  apparent 
eyes,  which,  when  seen  through  leafy  boughs,  give 
an  inconspicuous  animal  a  terrifying  appearance. 

A  still  more  curious  effect  can  be  seen  in  the 
caterpillar  of  the  puss  moth  (Cerura  vinula).  This 
larva,  when  undisturbed,  has  no  very  uncommon 
appearance,  but  as  soon  as  it  is  discovered  it  with- 


240  NOVEMBER 

draws  its  head  into  the  first  body  ring,  and  presents 
to  the  astonished  observer  a  large  flat  face,  which 
is  a  greatly  exaggerated  caricature  of  a  vertebrate 
countenance.  This  caterpillar  is  so  alarming  in 
appearance  that  a  certain  learned  entomologist  who 
saw  it  for  the  first  time  was  afraid  to  touch  it  when 
it  assumed  its  terrifying  attitude,  and  appeared  to 
glare  at  him  with  its  two  eye-marks,  resembling  jet- 
black  eyes. 

When  we  thus  see  how  cleverly  an  insect  can 
protect  itself  against  its  natural  foes  by  assuming 
warning  forms  and  colours,  it  at  once  strikes  the 
careless  observer  that  the  remarkable  thing  is  that 
more  species  have  not  availed  themselves  of  the 
process.  We  see  about  us  on  a  summer  walk  two 
great  groups  of  insects — those  which  so  closely 
resemble  surrounding  objects  that  they  are  almost 
indistinguishable  from  them,  and  those  which  are 
so  brilliantly  coloured  that  they  must  attract  atten- 
tion from  every  living  creature.  We  are  quick  to 
conclude  that  the  brightly  coloured  ones  are  pro- 
tected by  flavour  or  texture  from  death  by  hungry 
enemies  ;  and  it  seems  absurd  that  the  other  duller 
creatures,  which  are  only  protected  by  a  certain 
resemblance  to  their  surroundings,  should  not  have 
adopted  a  more  aggressive  means  of  self-preserva- 
tion. There  must  be  some  principle  antagonistic 
to  such  a  mode  of  protection,  and  this  principle 
would  be  found  in  the  too  complete  success  of  the 
method.  If  a  very  common  insect  which  formed 
the  staple  food  of  some  animal  took  such  a  means 
to  protect  itself,  the  predatory  animal  would  be 
forced  to  eat  unpalatable  food  to  avoid  starvation. 


NOVEMBER  241 

In  the  course  of  time  the  unpalatable  food  would  be 
so  familiar  that  custom  would  render  it  desirable. 
If  once  the  enemy  was  driven  by  hunger  to  eat 
largely  of  any  such  insect,  it  would  come  in  the  end 
to  devour  with  relish  the  food  which  at  first  it  ate 
only  under  sheer  necessity. 

There  is  but  little  doubt  in  these  days  that  animal 
colour  must  have  been  in  the  first  place  non-signifi- 
cant. By  the  process  of  natural  selection  it  has 
become  in  many  instances  significant.  Mr.  Poulton 
is  a  firm  adherent  of  Darwinism,  and,  like  that  great 
biologist,  considers  natural  selection  as  the  one 
solid  foundation  upon  which  evolution  rests.  He 
points  out  the  direct  testimony  to  this  view  which 
has  been  brought  to  bear  on  the  subject,  and  comes 
to  the  conclusion  that  experiment  would  prove  all 
mimicked  species  to  be  dangerous  or  disagreeable 
to  the  enemies  of  their  class,  and  that  all  mimetic 
resemblances  are  due  to  natural  selection. 


K 


DECEMBER 

Dec.  'T^HIS  is  the  Day  of  the  Unconquered 
25'  jL  Sun — dies  invicti  solis.  To-day  seems 
to  justify  the  patristic  choice  of  Christ's  birthday 
anniversary,  for  we  have  been  rejoicing  in  the  sun's 
glorious  brilliancy  since  early  dawn,  and  there  is 
even  warmth  in  his  rays. 

My  labours  of  Christmas  are  at  an  end.  I  have 
tied  up,  labelled,  and  myself  distributed  parcels  to 
two  hundred  and  ten  children  and  old  people,  not 
forgetting  the  shepherd  in  the  distant  field  known 
as  Cunnigaw  Hill  since  the  Saxon  days  when 
perhaps  a  king  owned  it.  It  is  always  the 
shepherds  who  are  apt  to  be  forgotten  at  times 
of  rejoicing,  and  a  special  effort  is  entailed  to 
provide  some  pleasure  for  them.  The  season's 
responsibilities  and  the  day's  duties  being  alike  well 
over,  I  can  spend  an  hour  in  the  greenhouse  before 
darkness  drives  me  indoors.  It  is  weeks  since 
I  have  been  able  to  give  a  whole  hour  to  my  plants, 
and  I  know  no  greater  refreshment  to  the  tired 
mind  and  body  than  to  get  away  into  their  company 
and  pore  over  every  growing  stem  and  leaf  and 
note  their  rate  of  progress  and  their  prospects  of 
a  speedy  delivery  of  their  tender  blossoms. 

December  is  a  month  when  every  bloom  is  valu- 

242 


DECEMBER  243 

able.  If  the  flower  famine  ever  threatens  in  the 
well -managed  greenhouse  it  is  between  the  winter 
solstice  and  mid- January.  Just  now,  for  instance, 
I  have  fewer  varieties  in  bloom  than  at  any  season 
of  the  year,  though  luckily  there  is  no  diminution 
in  the  general  bulk. 


THE  SHEPHERD  ON   CUNNIGAW   HILL 

Apart  from  chrysanthemums,  the  most  useful 
flower  for  the  amateur  from  October  to  December, 
as  I  think  I  have  said  before,  is  the  zonal  pelar- 
gonium. Provided  that  true  winter  varieties  are 
stocked,  there  can  hardly  be  too  many  plants  on  the 
shelves.  But  three  months  of  continued  flowering 
will  naturally  result  in  some  exhaustion,  and  by  the 


244  DECEMBER 

end  of  the  year  other  plants  must  take  the  place 
of  the  geranium  as  a  mainstay  of  the  gardener. 
Nothing  is  better  suited  for  this  purpose  than  the 
primula,  which  is  as  easy  to  grow  as  the  geranium, 
and  can  be  provided  in  almost  equally  generous 
quantities  to  tide  over  the  season  of  threatened 
famine  before  the  succession  of  bulbs  come  in, 
which  will  be  about  the  middle  of  January. 
Cinerarias  are  almost  as  useful  as  primulas,  but 
in  a  small  house  very  few  can  be  maintained,  as 
they  are  worthless  unless  well  grown.  It  is  not 
generally  recognised  that  cinerarias  are  admirable 
for  cutting  if  the  flowers  are  picked  before  they  are 
expanded  to  their  fullest.  I  have  had  them  in 
vases  for  ten  days  or 'a  fortnight,  but  it  is  necessary 
to  change  the  water  every  day,  and  to  give  them 
good-sized  vases. 

I  said  in  a  previous  chapter  that  I  would  describe 
the  best  way  to  enjoy  hardy  bulbs  in  the  drawing- 
room,  so  I  will  give  my  experiences  here. 

I  had  a  few  Roman  hyacinths  in  bloom  at  the 
end  of  November,  but  the  main  supply  came  in 
about  a  fortnight  ago.  I  have  a  blue  basin,  in 
shape  and  size  rather  like  a  shallow  wash-basin, 
but  of  a  good  porcelain,  and  having  the  design 
painted  all  over  the  outside.  It  is  sixteen  inches 
in  diameter,  and  holds  about  eighteen  or  twenty 
bulbs.  We  first  fill  the  basin  half  full  of  sand, 
then  dig  up  with  great  care  from  the  box  of 
hyacinths  all  those  bulbs  whose  flowers  are  on  the 
point  of  expanding.  The  roots  are  preserved  as 
nearly  intact  as  possible,  and  are  dipped  in  luke- 
warm water  to  cleanse  them  from  the  soil,  before 


DECEMBER  245 

being  replanted  in  the  basin  of  sand.  More  sand 
is  then  strewn  over  and  around  them  to  keep  them 
steady,  and  finally  a  layer  of  moss  is  laid  over  the 
roots.  The  sand  is  kept  wet,  and  so  long  as  this 
point  is  attended  to  so  long  will  the  bulbs  thrive  as 
well  as  though  they  were  still  in  their  original 
boxes.  My  bulbs  this  year  are  the  best  I  have 
ever  had.  Each  one  is  throwing  up  at  least  three 
or  four  flower  sprays,  some  as  many  as  nine,  the 
new  shoots  growing  up  from  below,  and  coming  to 
as  full  expansion  in  their  fresh  quarters  as  if  they 
had  never  been  disturbed. 

A  big  beau-pot  has  a  number  of  double  Roman 
narcissi  treated  in  the  same  way ;  and  a  third  con- 
tains paper-white  narcissi.  A  thin  green  stick 
should  be  inserted  deep  in  the  sand  at  the  middle 
of  the  pot,  rising  to  within  a  few  inches  of  the  top 
of  the  leaves,  and  to  this  stick  each  flower  stem 
can,  if  necessary,  be  tied  back  invisibly  with  a  fine 
green  thread.  It  is  worth  while  to  take  consider- 
able preliminary  pains  with  an  arrangement  of  this 
sort,  because  it  will  last  in  good  condition  for  two 
or  three  weeks  at  least,  and  will  be  immensely 
admired  by  all  who  see  it. 

I  daresay  there  are  gardens  and  greenhouses 
which  are  so  large  in  extent  and  so  well  stocked 
that  they  may  be  depended  upon  to  give  sufficient 
results  without  the  need  of  any  special  expenditure 
of  trouble.  But  the  small  gardener  who,  like 
myself,  wishes  to  get  large  results  from  a  limited 
space,  will  find  that  the  secret  of  success  lies  in 
unwearying  effort.  Nothing  must  be  neglected  at 
any  season  of  the  year ;  systematic  culture  and 


246  DECEMBER 

tendance  must  become  machine-like  in  their 
regularity.  This  habit  is  easy  enough  to  arrive 
at  when  one  begins  to  trace  how  failure  comes 

o 

from  disregard  of  elementary  principles.  For 
instance,  I  rely  on  zonal  pelargoniums  to  fill  up 
gaps  in  the  last  three  months  of  the  year.  If  we 
fail  to  strike  them  early  in  March,  delaying 
propagation  for  a  month  or  two,  the  plants  will 
not  gather  vitality  enough  in  the  summer  to  blossom 
when  I  want  them.  They  will  do  their  best  perhaps 
in  January  and  February,  when  bulbs  are  plentiful 
and  the  geraniums  are  not  so  necessary  as  in  the 
darker  days  of  late  autumn. 

No  doubt  the  ideal  practice  would  be  to  prolong 
the  season  of  things  by  having  a  succession  to 
come  on  when  the  first  show  is  over.  But — again 
to  instance  the  useful  pelargonium — fifty  pots  of 
these  timed  to  blossom  in  February,  and  kept 
carefully  disbudded  until  early  in  the  year,  would 
take  up  room  on  the  shelves  which  should  be 
devoted  to  plants  flowering  before  that  date.  Of 
course,  if  the  greenhouse  area  is  considerable  this 
may  and  should  be  done  ;  but  in  a  limited  space 
economy  of  time  and  of  room  is  so  important  that 
it  would  not  pay  the  amateur  to  deviate  from  the 
rules  which  common  sense  lays  down  in  the  matter. 

And  to  the  owner  of  a  small  house  I  may  give 
another  useful  hint.  There  is  no  room  in  it  for 
rubbish,  or  even  for  inferior  varieties.  If  a 
geranium  flowers  sparsely  or  with  a  short  footstalk 
which  makes  it  useless  for  cutting,  throw  it  away. 
If  cinerarias  come  a  bad  colour,  go  to  a  different 
seedsman  for  your  next  seed.  If  freesias  are  not 


DECEMBER  247 

full  grown,  reject  them;  if  chrysanthemums  are 
bad  doers,  fling  them  on  the  dust  heap.  Never 
keep  a  plant  that  is  not  one  of  the  best  of  its  kind 
for  your  purpose.  It  is  just  as  expensive  to 
keep  a  greenhouse  fire  going,  and  labour  paid,  for 
bad  things  as  for  good  things,  and  the  results  are 
not  comparable.  I  have  been  at  some  pains  to 
impress  this  maxim  on  Sterculus  for  several  years 
past,  and  I  was  amused  not  long  since  to  discover 
that  at  last  he  had  learnt  his  lesson.  I  happened 
to  make  inquiries  for  a  plant  that  he  had  long 
cherished  against  my  reiterated  wishes,  but  I  had 
not  liked  to  condemn  it  utterly,  as  he  had  received 
it  from  somebody  as  a  present  to  himself,  and  had 
passed  it  on  to  the  greenhouse. 

"  What  /  says,"  he  remarked,  eyeing  me  severely, 
as  though  he  was  repeating  an  oft-given  lesson  to 
a  refractory  pupil — "  what  /  says  is  that  we  haven't 
got  room  enough  in  a  little  place  like  ours  for 
rubbish.  Bad  things  is  as  expensive  to  grow 
as  good  things,  and  I  don't  hold  wi'  having  nothing 
but  the  best." 

I  heartily  agreed  with  him,  and  succeeded  in 
looking,  I  hope,  as  though  the  idea  was  an  entirely 
new  one  to  me.  The  main  thing  was  that  he  had 
come  round  to  sound  views  at  last. 

Dec.  26.  We  had  a  pleasant  little  party  of  three 
last  evening,  Magdalen  and  ourselves.  She, 
usually  so  reserved,  was  full  of  life  and  gaiety, 
which  gave  her  another  charm  in  my  eyes.  She  is 
always  good  to  look  at,  with  her  tall,  lissom  figure 
and  beautiful  face  framed  with  its  bright  brown 
hair  ;  but  she  is  not  always  attractive  to  the  general, 


248  DECEMBER 

because  she  can  be  not  a  little  repellent  when  the 
mood  takes  her.  But  last  night  she  was  her 
brightest  and  gayest  self.  There  was  no  coldness 
displayed  for  Jim's  benefit,  as  has  been  so  often 
the  case  for  a  long  time  past,  and  he  was  allowed 
to  enjoy  her  society,  if  he  would,  without  stint  or 
reserve.  I  told  her  about  Nancy's  scene  with 
Meshach,  who  now  regards  himself  as  her  fortunate 
lover,  and  we  all  laughed  over  it  together. 

"Come  now,  Magdalen,"  I  said,  "  what  would 
you  have  done  if  you  had  been  in  Nancy's  position?" 

"  What  should  I  have  done  ?  I  should  certainly 
not  have  done  as  Nancy  did,  though  perhaps  she 
is  almost  justified  by  the  event." 

"  Wouldn't  you  have  showed  him  that  he  cared, 
and  that  you  cared  ? " 

"  Most  certainly  not,  for  I  should  not  have  cared." 

"  But  if  you  had  cared  ?  " 

"If  I  had  cared  for  him  no  one  would  have 
known  it,  not  even  myself.  Or  if  myself  had  had 
a  faint  suspicion  of  it  I  should  have  treated  myself 
as  a  foolish  child." 

"  But  given  the  fact  that  they  loved  each  other, 
and  that  Nancy  was  convinced  of  it,  don't  you 
think  she  did  right  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  daresay  she  did  right — for  Nancy,"  said 
Magdalen  carelessly.  "  People's  ideas  vary,  that 
is  all." 

"  But,"  I  persisted,  "you  acknowledged  that  she 
is  justified  by  the  event." 

u  I  said  almost  justified — perhaps.  I  don't  think 
any  woman  is  justified  in  risking  rejection  by  a 
man." 


DECEMBER  249 

"  But  you  might  also  say,  if  you  want  to  be 
strictly  reasonable,  that  no  man  is  justified  either 
in  risking  a  refusal  from  a  woman.  And  where 
should  you  be  then  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  exactly  where  I  was  before," 
laughed  Magdalen  ;  "  but  probably  you  mean  where 
would  he  be." 

"  Yes,  where  would  he  be  ?  " 

"He  would  be  just  where  he  ought  to  be,"  said 
Magdalen,  with  some  heat,  "at  the  feet  of  the 
woman  he  loves.  But  if  she  loved  him  she  would 
see  that  he  was  not  there  long." 

"  But  if  she  didn't  love  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  then  it  wouldn't  matter." 

"  Yes,  it  would  matter,  for  you  would  have  placed 
him  in  a  position  which  you  would  consider  humilia- 
ting for  her.  You  are  not  reasonable." 

"It  isn't  a  case  for  reasonableness.  There  is  no 
reason  in  any  aspect  of  the  position.  If  you  want 
reason  you  must  have  suitable  marriages  arranged 
at  a  central  bureau." 

"  But  given  the  present  state  of  things,  I  don't 
see  why  a  woman  should  not  show  a  man  that  she 
loves  him." 

"How  should  she  show  him  when  perhaps  she 
won't  show  her  own  heart  ?  No,  he  practically 
commands  the  position  in  being  the  person  who  has 
apparently  the  sole  right  of  choosing.  Let  him 
have  its  disadvantages,  too,  in  being  liable  to 
rejection." 

"  I  don't  think  the  least  deserving  man  in  the 
world  ought  to  be  liable  to  rejection,  if  rejection  is 
so  unpleasant  as  you  seem  to  imagine.  He  ought 


250  DECEMBER 

to  know  whether  a  woman  loves  him  before  he 
asks." 

"  I  think  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred 
he  does  know,  or  he  might  know,  at  least,  if  he 
chose  to  exercise  common  sense." 

"  But,"  I  said,  taking-  her  at  a  disadvantage, 
"  you  contradict  yourself,  for  you  say  that  a  woman 
is  so  unwilling  to  be  the  only  one  who  loves  that 
she  will  not  own  even  to  herself  that  she  loves.  If 
she  will  not  own  it  to  herself,  how  shall  she  show  it 
to  him  ?  And  if  she  does  not  show  it  to  him,  how 
shall  he  know  it  ?  No,  you  don't  expect  him  to 
exercise  common  sense  ;  you  expect  him  to  be 
superhuman,  which  is  unreasonable." 

"  As  I  said  before,  reason  has  no  place  in  the 
matter,"  answered  Magdalen  loftily,  "so  that  I 
cannot  be  blamed  for  want  of  it.  Where  there  is 
no  reason  it  would  be  superfluous  to  attempt  to 
manufacture  it  in  the  person  of  a  single  individual." 

That  is  the  way  Magdalen  gets  out  of  difficulties 
when  she  is  hard  pressed.  Jim  only  laughed. 
Like  most  men,  he  detests  women  with  logical 
minds,  and  a  woman  who  could  bring  an  argument 
to  a  satisfactory  and  perfectly  fair  conclusion  would 
have  no  merit  in  his  eyes. 

After  he  had  taken  Magdalen  back  to  the 
Manor  and  had  settled  himself  in  an  armchair  for 
his  last  pipe,  I  thought  it  advisable  to  continue  the 
conversation. 

"  Talking  about  Nancy,"  I  said,  "what  do  you 
think  of  the  matter  ?  Do  you  consider  that  she 
was  justified  by  the  event  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  replied  Jim. 


DECEMBER  251 

"  On  what  grounds  ?  " 

"  That  by  taking  the  initiative  she  lost  something 
so  precious  that  its  loss  was  irremediable." 

"What  did  she  lose?" 

"  If  you  don't  know  by  instinct  what  she  lost," 
replied  Jim,  deliberately  puffing  away  at  his  pipe, 
"  not  all  the  explanation  in  the  world  would  convey 
it  to  you.  But  you  do  know." 

"  At  any  rate,  I  deny  that  you  are  right  in 
looking  at  the  thing  from  that  aspect.  You  are 
old-fashioned  and  narrow  and  utterly  mistaken. 
You  are  conventional  and  ridiculous.  You  are " 

"  This  is  the  sort  of  argument  I  really  enjoy," 
said  Jim.  "  I  was  afraid  I  should  lose  my  affection 
for  you  when  I  heard  you  demolishing  Magdalen's 
fallacies.  But  now  I  know  that  you  are  no  better 
—or  no  worse — than  she  is,  my  mind  is  relieved 
about  you.  It  is  bedtime.  Shall  I  light  your 
candle?" 

To  attempt  to  get  at  Jim's  real  self  is  as  futile  as 
the  effort  to  reach  the  North  Pole. 

A  capital  occupation  for  December  evenings  is 
the  planning  of  effects  for  next  summer.  If  annuals 
are  much  used  a  good  deal  of  thought  will  be 
required  for  their  right  selection  and  juxtaposition, 
and  even  if  nothing  but  perennials  are  grown  there 
is  still  scope  for  some  foresight  and  judgment.  In 
February  the  first  of  the  seeds  will  have  to  be 
sown,  and  these  should  not  be  chosen  or  ordered  at 
random,  so  that  a  long  winter  evening  or  two  may 
profitably  be  employed  in  thinking  out  a  colour 
scheme,  or  in  devising  fresh  combinations. 

Jt  is  a  good  plan  just  now  to  make  a  round  of 


252  DECEMBER 

the  rose-beds  and  to  remove  faulty  stakes.  The 
autumn  gales  will  hardly  have  permitted  every  one 
to  remain  intact,  and  the  ground  is  soft  enough 
during  most  of  December  to  allow  weak  supports  to 
be  replaced  by  strong  ones.  In  January  we  may  be 
frost  bound,  and  the  standard  trees  might  have  to 
wait  long  for  adequate  support  if  their  need  of  it  is 
not  discovered  now. 

In  the  greenhouse  and  storehouse  it  is  advisable 
to  look  over  begonia  bulbs,  dahlias,  gladioli,  and 
other  such  things.  Those  that  may  be  rotting  will 
be  better  on  the  rubbish  heap,  and  care  will  prevent 
others  from  following  them.  The  damp  fogs  of  the 
month  are  in  themselves  sufficiently  dangerous  to 
plants  under  glass  without  the  added  risk  of  decay- 
ing vegetable  matter  within.  Dead  leaves  should 
be  removed  as  soon  as  they  fall,  or  sooner,  and  care 
must  be  used  in  watering  not  to  sprinkle  the  house 
and  stages  unnecessarily. 

Cinerarias  coming  into  bloom  will  be  the  better 
for  weak  applications  of  manure  water  every  three 
or  four  days,  but  it  is  important  not  to  allow  the 
flowering  zonal  pelargoniums  to  enjoy  this  luxury. 
Manure  water  is  beneficial  to  them  in  their  growing 
season,  when  root  and  leaf  have  to  be  encouraged 
to  unite  in  making  good  plants.  But  if  it  is  given 
when  they  are  in  full  flower  they  will  immediately 
put  forth  large  efforts  for  improving  their  foliage, 
and  the  flowers  will  greatly  diminish  in  number 
and  perhaps  cease  altogether.  I  lost  more  than 
one  season's  bloom  through  Sterculus's  well-meant 
generosity  to  them  in  early  winter. 

The  best  quality  of  bulbs  is  their  perfect  willing- 


DECEMBER  253 

ness  to  remain  in  a  cold  frame,  with  proper  pro- 
tection, until  the  greenhouse  is  ready  to  receive 
them.  Twenty  degrees  of  frost  in  the  open  will 
not  hurt  hardy  bulbs  in  well-protected  frames.  As 
the  soft-wooded  plants  go  out  of  bloom,  and  are 
either  thrown  away  or  hidden  in  some  corner  until 
they  require  attention  again,  the  boxes  of  bulbs 
may  be  moved  into  the  greenhouse  to  continue  the 
winter  supply.  Snowdrops  are  better  left  in  the 
frames  until  the  buds  are  formed,  or  even  until  the 
blossoms  are  partly  expanded,  and  there  are  other 
things  which  will  not  suffer  under  this  treatment. 
I  have  this  winter  two  or  three  boxes  of  narcissi, 
the  double  Roman  and  the  paper -white,  whose 
flowers  are  actually  opening  in  the  frames,  and 
although  this  might  not  be  possible  in  a  severe  and 
continued  frost,  it  is  wonderful  what  a  little  extra 
protection  will  do  for  bulbs. 

There  are  various  other  things  in  bloom,  though 
not  as  yet  in  any  quantity ;  these  are  cyclamens, 
freesias,  cinerarias,  arums,  or  calla  Richardias, 
Christmas  roses,  the  scarlet  Due  van  Tholl  tulips, 
scillas,  and  muscaris  of  sorts,  chiefly  the  beautiful 
Heavenly  Blue  variety.  Chrysanthemums  still 
abound,  thanks  to  the  cold  treatment  which  the 
latest  plants  have  had,  and  I  expect  to  enjoy  them 
for  quite  another  fortnight,  though  they  will  be  but 
few  towards  the  end  of  it. 

Another  useful  plant  that  has  an  extended  flower- 
ing season,  and  is  now  at  its  best  in  some  of  my 
neighbours'  houses,  is  the  fibrous-rooted  begonia 
Gloire  de  Lorraine.  I  should  work  up  a  stock  of 
it  but  that  I  have  discovered  that  we  have  not 
warmth  enough  to  flower  it  when  I  want  it  most. 


254  DECEMBER  255 

Petunia  has  employed  her  Boxing  Day  to  good 
advantage  by  coming  over  to  see  me  after  an 
absence  of  some  weeks.  She  was  rather  amusing, 
which  is  not  her  wont,  unless  without  intention. 
She  told  me  that  she  had  just  come  from  the 
Cottage  Hospital  at  Oldborough,  where  she  had 
been  asked  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  protegee  of  her  Vicar. 
The  woman  was  evidently  suffering  from  some 
injury  to  her  arm,  and  Petunia  asked  what  ailed  it. 

"Oh,"  replied  the  patient,  "it  was  bitten  by  a 
lady  friend." 

The  hospital  is  situated,  appropriately  enough, 
next  to  the  churchyard,  and  a  newly  made  grave 
attracted  Petunia's  attention  as  she  passed.  Like  a 
good  many  other  people,  she  can  never  resist  the 
temptation  to  examine  funeral  wreaths  and  their 
inscriptions.  The  uppermost  one  bore  a  large  card 
inscribed— 

"  With  deep  sympathy  from  his  widow  and  children." 

There  is  a  touching  as  well  as  a  humorous  sugges- 
tion about  this.  The  survivors  evidently  were  con- 
vinced that  they  had  the  best  of  it,  and  sincerely 
commiserated  the  corpse. 

Petunia  was  very  happy.  Her  affairs  seem  to  be 
arranging  themselves  comfortably,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  before  long  the  great  news  will  be  suffi- 
ciently authorised  to  allow  of  its  being  announced 
to  who  cares  to  hear  it.  But  she  is  still  a  little 
anxious.  She  dreamed  three  nights  ago  about  her 
toes,  and  as  if  this  was  not  a  sufficiently  bad  omen, 
she  dreamed  the  next  night  that  she  was  eating 
fish.  So  she  has  intervals  of  despair  alternating 


DECEMBER  255 

with  her  happiness.  Where  Petunia  gets  her  super- 
stitions from  is  always  a  marvel  to  me,  but  one  may 
do  anything  with  her  except  laugh  at  her,  and 
luckily  her  narrative  of  hopes  and  fears  passed  off 
without  any  discordant  element. 

Petunia  has  a  new  Vicar.  He  is  a  young  gentle- 
man of  very  pronounced  High  Church  views,  and 
at  present  he  appears  to  be  alternately  the  pride 
and  the  despair  of  his  parishioners.  Since  he  is 
not  essential  to  Petunia's  well-being — as  I  shall  to 
my  dying  day  believe  that  for  a  while  his  predecessor 
was — she  can  enjoy  a  sly  joke  at  his  expense.  It 
seems  that  a  poor  woman  of  his  flock  lay  dying, 
and  there  was  evidently  on  her  mind  a  load  of 
which  she  could  not  be  persuaded  to  unburden 
herself.  The  Vicar,  yearning  to  confess  and  absolve 
her,  lost  no  opportunity  of  pressing  the  poor  thing 
to  tell  him  her  trouble,  which  she  promised  one  day 
to  do  on  the  following  morning,  when,  as  the  Vicar 
said,  the  house  would  be  quiet,  and  there  would  be 
no  hindrance  to  her  confession.  The  dear  young 
man  appeared  by  her  bedside  that  day  clad  in  his 
ecclesiastical  garments  of  surplice  and  cassock,  and 
after  preliminary  prayer  he  approached  the  momen- 
tous subject.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever 
succeeded  in  bringing  one  of  his  new  parishioners 
up  to  this  point. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Giles  very  feebly,  "  I've 
had  summat  on  my  mind  ever  since  I  know'd  I  was 
goin',  an'  now  I'll  tell  'ee  what  'tis.  Jack's  all  right, 
but  Harry's  top-coat  won't  last  the  winter." 

This  good  young  man  comes  from  a  London 
parish,  and  he  does  not  yet  know  our  Wessex 


256  DECEMBER 

people.  They  have  the  religious  instinct  to  a  very 
remarkable  degree,  but  they  can  endure  no  human 
interference  between  the  soul  and  its  Creator.  This 
stern  individualism  is  a  remnant  of  Puritanism. 

Their  religion  is  peculiar,  and  varies  with  the 
circumstances  of  life ;  the  tenets  are  few  but  marked. 
In  early  years  quietness  is  the  chief  characteristic  of 
the  virtuous  person.  It  is  the  test  by  which  he  is 
judged.  A  quiet  man  is  almost  of  necessity  on  the 
right  road,  unless  he  be  an  Irishman  or  a  Roman 
Catholic,  in  which  case  salvation  is  hardly  considered 
even  a  remote  possibility  for  him.  If  the  quiet 
man  goes  to  a  place  of  worship,  the  case  is  a  clear 
one  ;  if  he  goes  to  half  a  dozen,  it  is  clearer  still. 
He  is  on  the  right  road.  The  rustic  does  not  talk 
of  being  saved  nowadays,  except  in  bigoted  circles  ; 
quietness  is  the  essential  for  the  young  man  who  is 
credited  with  having  "got  religion,"  and  it  would 
be  unreasonable  to  look  for  much  more  from  him. 

The  next  step  comes  about  middle  age,  and  may, 
for  want  of  a  better  word,  be  termed  Respectedness, 
or  Dignification,  as  Isaac  Walton  would  call  it.  The 
man  respects  himself  more  than  he  respects  any 
other  person  of  his  acquaintance.  He  shows  every- 
body he  meets  how  fit  it  is  that  he  should  be 
respected.  His  behaviour  under  all  circumstances 
is  admirable.  He  takes  in  a  newspaper  and  spells 
it  out  to  his  friends  in  the  intervals  of  work. 
He  accumulates  piles  of  household  goods,  and  is 
always  a  maximum  subscriber  to  parochial  clothing 
clubs.  He  attends  all  the  village  entertainments, 
provided  the  price  of  admission  is  not  too  low  ;  he 
could  not  be  seen  in  a  penny  seat  without  loss  of 


DECEMBER  257 

self-respect,  but  a  sixpenny  one  will  invariably  find 
him.  He  is  always  in  church  on  collection  Sundays, 
well  dressed,  admirably  conducted,  attending  with  a 
detached  reasonableness  to  the  service.  He  is  never 
emotional  ;  he  has  no  "  conviction  of  sin,"  such  as 
his  dissenting  relatives  suffer  from  ;  he  never  talks 
about  getting  to  heaven,  nor  even  thinks  about  it. 
Personal  dignification  is  his  creed,  and  it  carries  him 
over  many  a  rough  journey,  and  makes  the  way 
smooth  for  him.  No  one  would  expect  more  of 
him  than  this  admirable  position. 

But  when  he  is  old,  or  when,  being  not  yet  old, 
Death  comes  knocking  for  him,  all  is  changed. 
Public  opinion  is  satisfied  that  a  man  shall  live  with 
quietness  and  dignification  for  his  religion,  but  it 
is  not  satisfied  that  he  should  die  with  them.  He 
must  find  God  on  his  deathbed.  Every  man  and 
woman  who  comes  to  see  him  points  out  his  duty 
in  the  matter.  "  You  must  think  o'  Heaven  now, 
master,  because  you've  got  naught  else  to  look  to," 
is  the  invariable  line  of  argument.  And  so,  since 
he  has  always  done  his  simple  duty,  he  clasps  his 
hands  and  says,  "Angels!  —  Glory!"  and  dies  as 
quietly  as  he  lived,  and  everyone  is  happy  about 
him,  and  says  he  makes  a  beautiful  corpse. 

I  don't  think  that  Petunia's  good  young  vicar 
can  appreciate  this  type  of  rustic.  But  it  is  a  noble 
type,  nevertheless,  instinct  with  that  proportion  and 
form  of  self-control  which  alone  is  attainable  by  its 
subject.  The  higher  flights  of  ecstasy  and  self- 
abnegation  are  not  possible  to  him ;  his  carnal 
will  is  brought  into  subjection  in  a  diverse  way 
from  that  of  his  educated  brother;  his  ideal  is  a 
s 


258  DECEMBER 

different  one,  perhaps  a  lower  one,  but  he  does  his 
best  to  live  up  to  it.  He  has  made  a  religion  of  his 
own,  suited  to  his  workaday  life  with  its  limitations 
and  temptations,  and  through  this  religion,  inade- 
quate as  we  may  be  inclined  to  regard  it,  he  finds 
himself  enabled  to — 

"  Move  upward,  working  out  the  beast, 
And  let  the  ape  and  tiger  die." 

People  are  very  fond  of  talking  about  the  "good 
old  days."  For  my  part,  I  confess  myself  no  lauder 
of  the  acted  time,  and  I  don't  believe  there  ever 
were  any  good  old  days.  The  days  when  men  were 
young  seem  good  to  them  in  retrospect,  and  that  is 
probably  the  extent  of  it.  In  the  country  we  read 
much  in  our  daily  newspapers,  which  come  from 
London,  about  the  agricultural  depression,  but  the 
dweller  in  the  wilderness  is  forced  to  admit  that 
this  depression  is  not  visible  to  the  naked  eye.  The 
occupier,  at  any  rate,  whether  farmer  or  labourer,  is 
as  flourishing  as  he  chooses  to  be,  though  the  actual 
owner  of  the  land  is  obliged  to  deny  himself  many 
luxuries  that  were  formerly  his.  As  he  is  in  a 
minority,  however,  he  gets  but  scant  attention  paid 
to  his  impoverished  condition,  and,  taken  as  a  whole, 
the  days  are  better  for  the  dweller  on  the  land  than 
they  ever  before  have  been.  But  there  were 
certainly  times  when  men  in  country  places  enjoyed 
life  more  boisterously  than  they  do  now.  If  we 
have  anything  to  regret  of  the  customs  left  behind 
us  in  past  ages,  it  is  the  games,  the  sports,  which 
gave  life  to  the  village  green.  Of  these  games  not 
one  exists  here  at  the  present  day,  and  the  sole 


DECEMBER  261 

link  we  have  with  pre- Reformation  times  is  the 
Christmas  play  which  is  still  enacted  by  our  village 
mummers.  It  is  preserved  orally,  and  is  passed  on 
thus  from  generation  to  generation.  I  have  taken 
it  down  from  the  lips  of  a  member  of  an  hereditary 
mumming  family,  and  append  it  here  as  I  heard  it 
last  night  in  our  kitchen  regions,  and  have  heard  it 
almost  every  Christmas-time  through  my  life.  It 
may  be  observed  from  internal  evidence  that  the 
characters  were  formerly  more  numerous  than  they 
are  in  these  degenerate  days  ;  for  the  bold  Turkish 
Knight,  to  accommodate  himself  to  the  shrunken 
number  of  the  players,  and  perhaps  also  to  suit  the 
exigencies  of  the  tale  and  the  necessity  for  a  re- 
cognition of  British  conquest  everywhere,  is  rolled 
into  one  with  the  Bold  Foreign  King. 

The  peaceful  winter  night  is  disturbed  by  the 
sound  of  stealthy  footsteps  outside  the  drawing- 
room  windows,  and  presently,  led  by  a  concertina, 
the  preliminary  chant  breaks  out— 

"  God  bless  the  master  of  this  house, 

I  hope  he  is  athin — 
An'  if  he  is  praay  tell  us  zo, 
An'  zoon  we  'ool  begin. 

Chorus — With  a  hey  dum  dum, 
With  a  hey  dum  dum, 
With  a  hey  dum  dum  de  deny ; 
Vor  we  be  come  this  Christmas-time 
A  purpose  to  be  merry. 

"  I  hopes  the  missis  is  athin, 

A-zittin'  by  the  vire, 
A-pittin'  us  poor  mummers  yer, 
Out  in  the  dirty  mire. 

Chorus — With  a  hey  dum  dum,  etc. 


262  DECEMBER 

"  We  doan't  come  yer  but  wunst  a  year, 

An'  hopes  'tis  no  offence ; 
An'  if  it  is  praay  tell  us  zo, 
An'  zoon  we  ;ool  go  hence. 

Chorus — With  a  hey  dum  dum,  etc." 

The  invitation  to  enter  is  given,  and  the  mum- 
mers go  round  to  the  kitchen,  where  presently  the 
members  of  the  family  and  the  servants  are  gathered 
to  witness  the  play.  Each  mummer  enters  singly 
in  a  conventional  order,  and  each  when  he  has  come 
in  proceeds  to  tramp  round  the  room  in  a  dizzy 
circle,  excepting  while  the  floor  is  occupied  by  the 
fight,  when  all  except  the  combatants  stand  aside 
for  a  while. 

THE   MUMMERS'   PLAY. 

Excursions  without,  followed  by  a  knock  at  the  door.  Enter 
FATHER  CHRISTMAS,  attired  in  motley  of  chintz,  from  his  high- 
crowned  indefinite  headgear  depending  fringes  of  coloured  paper 
reaching  nearly  to  the  waist,  and  partly  concealing  his  features. 

FATHER  CHRISTMAS. 

In  comes  I,  wold  Veyther  Christmas, 

Welcome  or  welcome  not ; 
I  hopes  wold  Veyther  Christmas 

'Ool  never  be  forgot. 

Christmas  comes  but  wunst  a  year, 

An'  when  it  comes  it  brings  good  cheer ; 

Roast  beef,  plum  pudding,  strong  beer,  mince  pie, 

Who  likes  that  any  better'n  little  Happy  Jack'n  I  ? 

In  this  room  there  shall  be  shown 
The  girtest  battle  as  ever  was  known, 
Between  King  Jarge  an'  the  Turkish  Knight, 
Come  over  into  old  England  vor  to  vight. 

A  room,  a  room  !     I  do  assume 
Vor  my  brave  bwoys  an'  soldiers  too ; 
An'  that's  the  reason  why  I  zay 
Walk  in,  King  Jarge,  an'  clear  thy  way. 


DECEMBER  265 

Enter  KING  GEORGE,  attired  in  as  near  an  approach  as  he  dares 
don  to  a  modern  military  uniform.  His  manner  is  blustering 
and  aggressive. 

KING  GEORGE. 

In  comes  I,  King  Jarge, 

That  man  of  kerrage  bold ; 
With  my  broad  sword  in  my  hand 
I  won  ten  thousand  pounds  in  gold. 

'Twas  I  that  fought  the  fiery  dragon, 
An'  brought  en  to  the  slaughter ; 

'Twas  I  that  won 

The  King  of  Egypt's  daughter. 

With  my  manhood  zo  brave, 

An'  my  vallet  zo  true, 

I've  conquered  armies  an'  nations,  an'  still  I  say, 
I'll  fight  wi'  any  fightin'  man  as  comes  athin  my  way. 

FATHER  CHRISTMAS.     Walk  in,  thou  Foreign  King. 

Enter  THE  FOREIGN  KING,  dressed  somewhat  like  FATHER 
CHRISTMAS — as  are  nearly  all  the  following  characters — but 
with  a  blackface.  His  manner  is  as  blatant  as  King  George's 
until  his  defeat  at  the  champion's  hands^  when  he  cringes  in 
proper  form,)  as  England's  enemies  should  everywhere  do. 

THE  FOREIGN  KING. 

In  comes  I,  the  bold  Foreign  King, 
Wi'  my  broad  sword  in  my  hand 
I'll  quickly  make  it  swing. 
Likewise  I  am  the  bold  Turkish  Knight, 
Just  come  into  old  England  vor  to  fight. 
Let  King  Jarge — that  man  of  kerrage  bold — 
Draw  his  sword ; 
If  his  blood  be  hot 
I'll  quickly  make  it  cold. 

KING  GEORGE. 

Hold,  thou  Turkish  Knight ! 
Thou  talkest  very  bold ; 
But  draw  thy  sword  an'  vight, 
Or  draw  thy  purse  an'  pay  ; 
Vor  satisfaction  I  'ool  have 
Avore  thou  goest  away. 


266 


DECEMBER 


THE  FOREIGN  KING.     Zatisfaction,  King  Jarge  ?     There  is  no 

zatisfaction  at  all ; 

Vor  thee  an'  I  'ool  battle  to  zee  which  of  us  on  the  vloor  shall 
virst  vail.       [A  terrible  fight  ensues,  and  THE  FOREIGN  KING 

falls  on  one  knee. 


"THEE  AN'  i  'OOL  BATTLE" 

THE  FOREIGN  KING. 

Pardon  me,  pardon  me,  O  King,  I  crave ! 
Pardon  me,  King  Jarge,  an'  vor  ever  'ool  I  be  thy  slave. 

[KING  GEORGE  pardons  him,  and  they  fight  again. 
THE  FOREIGN  KING  is  killed. 
FATHER  CHRISTMAS. 

Oh,  King  !  oh,  King  !  what  hast  thou  done  ? 
Thou  hast  ruined  me  by  killin'  my  only  zon ! 


DECEMBER 


267 


KING  GEORGE.     Nay,  Father,  'twas  thy  zon  as  gave  me  the 
virst  challenge. 

FATHER  CHRISTMAS.     Is  there  a  doctor  to  be  vound 
To  cure  this  man  as  lies  bleedin'  an'  wounded  on  the  ground  ? 


"MY   NAME    IS   MISTER   GRAY" 

KING  GEORGE.     Yes,  there  is  a  doctor  to  be  vound 
To  cure  this  man  lyin'  bleedin'  an'  wounded  on  the  ground. 
FATHER  CHRISTMAS.     Who  is  he? 
KING  GEORGE.     Peter  Gray. 
FATHER  CHRISTMAS.     Walk  in,  Peter  Gray. 


268  DECEMBER 

Enter  PETER  GRAY. 

PETER  GRAY.     Who  are  you  a-callin'  Peter  Gray  ? 
My  name  is  not  Peter  Gray, 
My  name  is  Mister  Gray — 
Zo  the  people  all  zay. 

FATHER  CHRISTMAS.     Oh,  doctor,  doctor,  what  is  thy  fee  ? 

PETER  GRAY.     Ten  guineas  is  my  fee, 

But  fifty  guineas  I'll  take  of  thee. 

FATHER  CHRISTMAS.  Take  it  all,  doctor,  but  what  canst  thou 
cure? 

PETER  GRAY. 

I  can  cure  the  itch,  the  stitch,  the  palsy,  an'  the  gout, 

All  pains  athin  an'  all  pains  athout, 

An'  if  this  man  hev  got  a  bush  in's  toe  I  can  pull  en  out. 

Yes,  I  am  a  noble  little  doctor ;  I  am  not  one  of  them  deceit- 
ful quack  doctors  as  walks  from  place  to  place  a-zayin'  what  they 
can  do.  What  I  doos  I  doos  before  you  all;  'tis  hard  if  you 
cain't  believe  your  own  eyes.  I've  got  a  bottle  here  called  the 
Foster  Drops.  I'll  put  one  drop  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  an' 
one  drop  on  the  palm  of  his  hand,  an'  will  zay  to  en,  Arise  ! 
arise  !  an'  walk  as  quickly  as  thou  canst ! 

KING  GEORGE  (menacingly).  Arise !  arise,  an'  get  thee  back 
to  thine  own  country,  an'  tell  them  that  King  Jarge  can  vight 
ten  thousand  better  men  than  thee.  [THE  FOREIGN  KING  rises. 
All  begin  again  to  tramp  in  a  circle  round  the  room. 

FATHER  CHRISTMAS.     Walk  in,  Tall-an'-Smart. 

Enter  TALL-AND-SMART. 
TALL-AND-SMART. 

In  comes  I,  bold  Tall-an'-Smart, 
I  tells  my  mind  wi'  all  my  heart ; 
My  head  is  made  of  iron, 
My  body's  lined  wi'  steel, 
My  trousers  fits  my  legs  zo  tight, 
My  garters  drags  my  heel. 

Virst  coir.es  Christmas,  an'  then  comes  spring — 
I  am  a  little  jolly  lad  can  either  dance  or  zing. 

FATHER  CHRISTMAS.     Walk  in,  bold  Granny-dear. 


ILL  PUT  ONE  DROP  ON   THE  TIP  OF   HIS  TONGUE1 


DECEMBER 

Enter  THE  BOLD  GRENADIER. 
THE  BOLD  GRENADIER. 

In  comes  I,  bold  Granny-dear, 
Vor  Tall-an'-Smart  I  do  not  vear ; 
If  his  head  is  made  of  iron, 
An'  his  body's  lined  wi'  steel, 
Vrom  his  head  to  his  shoulders 
I'll  quickly  make  en  veel. 

FATHER  CHRISTMAS.     Walk  in,  Happy  Jack. 


269 


HAPPY  JACK 


Enter  HAPPY  JACK,  a  flag-basket  containing  a  large  rag  doll  and 
several  small  ones  slung  over  his  back. 

HAPPY  JACK.     In  comes  I,  little  Happy  Jack, 

Wi'  my  wife  an'  vam'ly  at  my  back, 


270  DECEMBER 

My  vam'ly  large,  though  I  be  small, 

Every  little  helps  us  all. 

Out  o'  nine  I've  got  but  vive, 

An'  half  o'  they  be  starved  alive  : 
A  cup  o'  Christmas  ale  will  make  us  dance  an'  zing, 
But  money  in  our  pocket's  a  much  better  thing. 
Ladies  an'  gentlemen  a-zettin'  at  your  ease, 
Give  us  a  Christmas-box,  just  what  you  please. 

FATHER  CHRISTMAS.     Walk  in,  Mazzant  binmt. 

Enter  HIM-AS-AIN'T-BEEN-IN-YET. 
HIM-AS-AIN'T-BEEN-IN-YET. 

In  walks  I  as  an't  bin  'it, 

Wi'  my  girt  head  an'  little  wit, 

My  head  zo  big,  my  wit  zo  small — 

I've  brought  my  viddle  to  please  'ee  all. 

Green  sleeves,  yellow  lace, 

Come  all  you  mummers,  dance  apace, 

The  viddler  is  in  great  distress 

Vor  want  of  a  little  money. 

[Polka,  in  which  all  take  part. 


JANUARY 

Jan.  y  I  ^HERE  are  few  records  more  interesting, 
2.       A     to  my  mind,  than  those  dealing  with  the 
history  of  the  place  in  which  one  lives. 

The  documentary  history  of  this  parish  goes 
back  very  far,  for  we  learn  that  a  portion  of 
it  belonged  to  the  monastery  of  Abingdon  in  the 
seventh  century.  Ceadwalla,  the  monkish  King  of 
Wessex,  granted  property  here  to  the  monastery  in 
A.D.  686,  and  the  grant  was  confirmed  by  Cenwulf, 
King  of  Mercia,  in  A.D.  821.  Tradition  tells  of  a 
temporary  or  a  summer  camp  here  in  Roman  days. 
The  high  ridge  between  two  valleys  was  admirably 
suited  to  such  a  position  for  surveying  purposes, 
commanding  the  country  westward  beyond  Marl- 
borough,  and  on  the  north  and  east  almost  as  far. 
It  is  easy  to  weave  a  pretty  story  round  a  silver 
coin  of  the  Republic,  B.C.  circa  217,  which  was  dug 
up  in  a  field  just  below  the  camp  some  thirty  or 
forty  years  since.  It  is  a  coin  common  enough 
with  collectors,  but  is  the  only  one  of  its  kind 
ever  found  in  England,  and  it  is  probable  that  it 
was  brought  over  by  a  Roman  soldier  during  the 
Occupation  as  a  keepsake,  and  lost  by  him  in  the 
meadow  where  it  was  so  many  centuries  later  found. 
There  may  have  been  much  wailing  and  heart- 

271 


272  JANUARY 

searching  in  consequence,  and  I  should  like  to 
know  what  the  Roman  maiden  said  when  her  swain 
turned  up  on  Tiber's  banks  without  her  gage  of  love. 

The  parish  consists  of  six  small  villages,  with 
a  total  population  in  these  days  of  about  eight 
hundred  souls.  Various  Saxon  charters  are  extant 
which  deal  with  lands  in  the  parish,  and  in  Domes- 
day it  is  recorded  that  a  principal  owner  of  property 
was  a  certain  Editha,  who  may  possibly  have  been 
the  widow  of  Edward  the  Confessor.  She  appears 
to  have  had  power  to  deal  with  the  place  as  she 
chose,  for  the  book  in  its  quaint  phraseology  tells 
us  that  "  Editha  herself  might  go  where  she 
pleased,"  or,  in  other  words,  that  she  had  the 
privilege  of  alienating  the  property  if  she  should 
desire  to  do  so. 

Until  the  year  1226  that  portion  of  the  parish 
which  lies  about  the  River  Kennet  was  included 
within  the  confines  of  Windsor  Forest,  although  it 
lay  at  least  forty  miles  from  the  royal  domain. 
It  was  disafforested  in  the  year  mentioned,  but  it 
is  evident  that  the  King  was  still  liable  to  come 
hunting  here,  for  in  1284  William  Lovell  held  two 
carucates  of  land  by  the  sergeanty  of  keeping  a 
kennel  of  hounds  at  the  King's  cost.  There  is  still 
a  lonely  cot  called  King's  Barn  in  the  part  of  the 
parish  in  which  William  Lovell's  manor  lay,  but  I 
doubt  if  its  name  has  been  handed  down  from  the 
thirteenth  century.  Local  tradition  asserts  that  it 
was  the  abode  of  a  certain  Daddy  King,  who  died 
a  violent  death,  and  still  haunts  the  lane  near 
King's  Barn.  He  wandered  when  in  his  cups  into 
a  shallow  dip-hole  on  the  hillside,  and  falling  on 


JANUARY  273 

his  face,  was  suffocated  there.  He  is  said  to  have 
been  a  very  small  man,  and  the  last  person  who 
saw  his  wraith,  about  half  a  century  since,  could 
bring  as  sole  evidence  his  belief  that  the  shade 
which  appeared  to  him  was  "about  the  height  of 
a  donkey."  But  this  testimony  has  always  been 
considered  quite  conclusive,  for  was  not  Daddy 
King  locally  reported  to  have  been  an  abnormally 
small  man  ? 

William  Lovell's  manor  was  a  portion  of  that 
property  which  belonged  nearly  a  hundred  years 
after  his  time  to  William  Danvers,  who  in  1353 
alienated  his  possessions  to  King  Edward  III., 
with  a  proviso  that  the  King  should  direct  masses 
to  be  said  for  William  Danvers'  soul  at  the  Royal 
Chapel  of  Windsor  for  ever.  I  fear  this  pious 
arrangement  has  lapsed,  and  that  the  only  eventual 
gainers  by  the  proceeding  were  the  Royal  Family, 
for  the  King  promptly  made  a  provision — or  part 
of  a  provision — for  his  daughter  Isabella  out  of 
the  property  in  question,  as  recorded  in  a  Pipe 
Roll  of  1360.  Queen  Katherine  of  Aragon  came 
in  for  the  estate  at  a  later  date,  and  so,  after  her, 
did  Lady  Jane  Seymour — Queen  Joan  of  England, 
as  she  is  called  by  the  chroniclers. 

A  knight's  fee  in  the  parish  was  held  early  in  the 
fifteenth  century  by  a  certain  Richard  Abberbury, 
a  near  relative — probably  a  son — of  Sir  Richard 
Abberbury,  the  guardian  during  his  minority  of 
King  Richard  II.  Richard  Abberbury  the  younger 
had  married,  about  1382,  Alice,  widow  of  Edmund 
Danvers  of  Chilton,  and  a  few"  years  later  appears 
to  have  been  living  at  Donnington,  some  four  miles 
T 


2/4  JANUARY 

from  this  parish,  a  fine  property  which  he  sold  in 
1415  to  Thomas  Chaucer,  who  is  supposed  to  have 
been  a  son  of  the  poet,  Geoffrey  Chaucer.  To  this 
Richard  Abberbury,  John  of  Gaunt,  in  1397,  be- 
queathed a  legacy  of  fifty  marks,  and  a  helmet 
which  is  said  to  have  belonged  to  him  is  now  in 
the  Tower  of  London. 

When  Henry  VIII.  dissolved  the  monasteries 
the  Abbot  of  Abingdon  was  one  of  the  first  to 
yield  to  his  Sovereign's  command,  and  to  give 
up  the  Church  property  in  his  keeping.  Henry 
accordingly  became  possessed  of  a  more  consider- 
able property  in  this  parish.  In  1561  Queen 
Elizabeth  granted  the  land  which  had  been 
formerly  parcel  of  the  monastery's  possessions,  and 
which  her  "  dearest  father"  had  leased  to  Sir 
Thomas  Parry,  Kt.  (Councillor  and  Treasurer  of 
the  Royal  Household),  to  this  Sir  Thomas's  son 
Thomas,  who  was  himself  also  knighted  at  some 
subsequent  date,  and  appointed  Chancellor  of 
the  Duchy  of  Lancaster,  Sheriff  of  Berks,  and 
Ambassador  to  France.  He  was  buried  in  West- 
minster Abbey  in  1616.  Sir  Thomas  got  into 
pecuniary  difficulties  before  he  died,  and  in  1590 
sold  the  reversion  of  his  lands,  after  his  wife's  and 
his  own  demises,  to  his  brother-in-law,  Sir  Thomas 
Knyvett,  of  Ashwellthorpe,  Norfolk.  In  Chancery 
Bills  and  Answers,  1616,  there  is  a  piteous  appeal 
for  a  provision  from  Sir  Thomas's  natural  son, 
Samuel  Parry,  who  seems  to  have  been  a  con- 
siderable loser  by  his  father's  death  : — 

"Whereas  the  said  Sir  Thomas  Parry  did  keepe  your 
Orator  with  all  needful  allowances  of  habitation,  meate, 


JANUARY  275 

drinke,  and  expenses,  and  did  direct  the  course  of  your 
said  Orator  his  life,  that  albeit  he  being  bred  in  Litterature 
and  very  good  fassion  by  the  said  Sir  Thomas  his  direc- 
tion, did  not  apply  himself  to  any  profession,  but  Sir 
Thomas  Parry  said  your  Orator  shold  depend  upon  the 
honorable  care  of  him  the  said  Sir  Thomas,  your  Orator 
having  taken  to  wife  a  gentlewoman  of  good  birth  hath 
by  her  Tenn  children." 

He  pleads  for  a  promised  provision  of  £40  per 
annum  out  of  the  estates,  but  I  have  not  succeeded 
in  finding  any  record  to  prove  whether  he  got  it 
or  no. 

Sir  Thomas  Knyvett  never  came  into  actual 
possession  of  the  property,  for  he,  also  falling  into 
debt,  assigned  his  reversion  for  a  good  round  sum 
to  a  wealthy  citizen  and  Lord  Mayor  of  London 
named  Sir  Francis  Jones,  of  whom  the  present  lord 
of  the  manor  is  the  representative. 

There  was  probably  a  church  here  from  a  very 
early  date.  The  parish  church  until  fifty  years  ago 
had  for  its  north  wall  a  portion  of  the  old  Norman 
masonry,  and  when  this  wall  was  taken  down 
remnants  of  an  older  foundation  and  indications 
of  burials  beneath  showed  that  there  had  been  an 
earlier  edifice  on  or  near  the  spot.  The  tower  of 
the  chapel  of  ease  exhibits  to  this  day  the 
veritable  work  of  Saxon  builders,  and  until  com- 
paratively recently  the  sole  means  of  entrance  to 
it  was  by  a  doorway  high  up  in  the  wall  of  the 
tower.  A  platform  to  support  a  beacon  fire 
formed  the  topmost  storey.  The  churchyard  lies 
around  the  parish  church,  and  I  have  calculated 
that  at  least  twenty  thousand  bodies  rest  in  that 
one  small  acre  of  ground. 


276  JANUARY 

The  Parish  Registers  are  interesting  reading  for 
the  genealogist,  and  are  practically  continuous  from 
the  year  1559,  though  entries  are  sparse  during  the 
Protectorate.  The  official  transcribers,  when  copy- 
ing from  the  old  paper  books  into  the  parchment 
volumes  ordered  for  use  from  1603  onward,  have 
omitted  many  details  which  they  considered  trivial, 
such  as  burials  in  woollen  and  the  like,  and  the 
Registers  are  therefore  robbed  of  interest  in  this 
respect.  But  as  a  collection  of  names  they  are 
very  valuable.  Perhaps  one  of  the  most  curious 
entries  is  that  of  a  comparatively  recent  marriage, 
of  which  the  following  is  an  abstract : — 

o 

"  Richard  Habgood  of  this  Parish,  Batchelor,  and 
Hannah  Eyles  of  the  Parish  of  Speen,  Widow,  were 
married  in  this  Church  by  Licence  this  Sixteenth  Day  of 
November  in  the  Year  One  Thousand  Seven  Hundred 
and  Seventy  two,  by  me  T.  Shirley,  Rector." 

In  the  margin,  in  Mr.  Shirley's  handwriting,  are 
the  words  "  H.  Snell,"  which  in  the  abstract  of  the 
marriage  register  are  expanded  into  "  Han.  Snell, 
Soldier." 

Hannah  Snell  was  a  famous  adventuress  who 
was  born  at  Worcester  in  the  year  1723.  In  1744 
she  married  a  Dutch  sailor  named  James  Summs, 
but  owing  to  his  evil  conduct  and  desertion,  she 
was  forced  to  seek  her  own  living,  and  in  the 
following  year,  under  a  sufficient  disguise,  she  en- 
listed as  a  soldier  in  a  regiment  quartered  at 
Carlisle.  Not  liking  her  companions,  however,  she 
deserted,  and  took  service  at  Portsmouth  as  a 
marine,  in  which  capacity  she  seems  to  have  served 
for  five  years  without  any  discovery  of  her  sex. 


JANUARY  277 

She  obtained  pensions  from  both  services,  and  in 
1759  married  a  man  named  Eyles ;  her  third 
husband,  whose  existence  is  not,  so  far  as  I  can 
judge,  known  to  historians,  being  the  Richard  Hab- 
good  recorded  in  our  Registers.  It  is  probable  that 
she  survived  him,  as  she  died  in  1792  an  inmate  of 
Chelsea  Hospital,  where  she  was  buried. 

Jan.  20.  January  is,  or  should  be,  the  month 
of  flowers.  There  are  few  of  the  best  winter- 
blooming  plants  that  cannot  be  had  now  in  perfec- 
tion, though,  strangely  enough,  it  is  the  time  of 
greatest  leanness  in  most  greenhouses.  The  fault 
lies  with  the  amateur  who  crowds  his  house  with 
things  that  bloom  when  flowers  under  glass  are  not 
valuable.  Something  is  due  also  to  that  mistaken 

o 

economy  which  prevents  the  small  amount  of 
expenditure  necessary  for  a  January  show — mis- 
taken, because  the  joy  of  coming  into  one's  sitting- 
rooms  from  a  walk  or  drive  in  snow  and  sleet  and 
general  discomfort,  and  finding  them  crammed  with 
yellow  daffodils,  is  one  hardly  to  be  matched  among 
life's  simpler  pleasures. 

January  is  the  time  of  fruition  after  the  labours 
of  three  previous  seasons.  It  is  also  a  period  of 
partial  idleness,  for  though  much  planning  may  then 
be  done,  actual  work,  except  that  of  the  moment, 
is  almost  at  a  standstill.  There  are  few  seeds  to 
be  sown,  little  propagating  except  of  chrysanthe- 
mums is  advisable,  and  planting  in  general  is  at 
a  standstill.  Enjoyment  without  labour  and  with- 
out anxiety  is  so  seldom  within  the  grasp  of  the 
mortal  that  so  good  an  opportunity  for  it  should 
not  be  lightly  flung  aside. 


278  JANUARY 

But  if  the  time  is  one  of  fruition  it  is  also  one  of 
criticism,  of  weeding,  of  ruthless  sitting  in  judg- 
ment. Worthless  varieties  of  bulbs  have  betrayed 
themselves,  and  a  bad  mark  must  be  placed  against 
their  names.  Plants  which  need  more  heat  than 
the  greenhouse  can  supply  must  be  got  rid  of. 
Others  which  blossom  late  must  be  noted,  that  due 
consideration  may  be  given  to  the  proportion  of 
their  value  for  winter  use.  A  plant,  for  instance, 
which  flowers  in  March  is  worth  perhaps  a  tenth 
part  of  one  which  flowers  in  January.  Unless  the 
greenhouse  space  is  practically  unlimited,  the  former 
should  make  way  for  the  latter  kind  of  plant ;  but 
it  is  easy  enough,  I  find,  to  give  oneself  good 
advice,  and  difficult  indeed  to  accept  and  to  act 
upon  it.  Every  winter  I  record  a  vow  that  I  will 
never  again  grow  this  or  that  variety  of  bulb,  and 
every  summer  the  temptation  of  the  growers' 
catalogues  proves  too  strong  for  me.  Here  and 
now,  for  instance,  I  have  three  different  kinds  of 
yellow  tulip  in  bloom  ;  they  are  Chrysolora,  yellow 
Pottebakker,  and  Mon  Tresor,  and  there  is  no 
comparison  between  them  in  point  of  value.  The 
first  comes  a  little  smaller  than  the  others,  but  in 
the  amateur's  hands  it  is  infinitely  superior  to  them 
in  shape,  texture,  and  habit.  In  these  pages  I 
register  a  new  resolve,  which  is  the  old — that  I  will 
grow  for  the  future  no  single  yellow  tulip  under 
glass  except  Chrysolora,  which  is  less  subject  to 
vicissitude  and  to  the  ravages  of  fly  than  any  other, 
and  generously  gives  me  its  best  even  in  circum- 
stances which  the  tulip  as  a  species  dislikes  so 
intensely  as  those  attending  its  forcing. 


JANUARY  279 

Glorious  are  the  daffodils  now  in  flower  in  my 
little  greenhouse.  I  have  tried  the  new  poeticus 
poetarum  this  year,  and  though  it  has  been  a  sad 
failure  it  has  shown  me  what  a  beautiful  thing  it 
would  be  in  happier  times.  It  has  a  very  delicate 
perianth  with  a  gorgeous  stained  cup,  and  I  hope 
to  obtain  some  success  with  it  out  of  doors  if  not 
under  glass. 

But  if  there  is  a  failure  or  two  there  are  many 
successes,  for  I  do  not  think  that  any  other  daffodils 
have  cheated  me  of  a  flower.  The  ordinary  poeticus 
ornatus  is  perfect,  and  is  now  in  full  bloom,  together 
with  a  dozen  or  more  other  varieties.  Here  is  a 
list  of  them  :— 

Narcissus^  double  Roman. 

N.  Paper  White. 

N.  Poeticus  ornatus. 

N.  Incomparabilis. 

N.  „  Bacon  and  Eggs. 

N.  Obvallaris. 

N.  Spurius. 

N.  Cynosure. 

N.  Figaro. 

N.  Stella. 

N.  Barrii  conspicuus. 

N.  Princeps. 

N.  Horsfieldii. 

N.  Rugulosus. 

N.  Golden  Spur. 

Of  other  bulbs  there  are  blue  and  maize-coloured 
Italian  hyacinths,  grape  hyacinths,  including  two 
beautiful  new  varieties,  called  respectively  azureum 
and  Heavenly  Blue;  scillas,  snowdrops,  freesias,  and 
sweet  jonquils.  Various  tulips  there  are  also,  though 
some  experimental  kinds  must  be  acknowledged 


280  JANUARY 

relative  failures ;  La  Reine,  however,  is  never  a 
failure,  and  it  is  very  fine  this  winter.  There  are 
other  minor  bulbs,  all  of  which  are  pretty  and  some 
well  worth  growing,  while  others  take  up  more  room 
than  one  is  justified  in  giving  them.  Of  these  last 
are  the  small  hoop-petticoat  narcissi,  various  snow- 
flakes  and  varieties  of  squills.  But  everyone  should 
grow  the  white  dog's-tooth  violet — erythronium 
citrinum  is  its  catalogued  name.  The  leaves  are  hand- 

o 

some,  faintly  spotted  with  brown,  and  they  stand 
up  boldly  round  the  flower  stem,  which  bears  two 
or  more  blossoms,  creamy  in  colour  with  a  yellow- 
stained  centre.  Several  bulbs  in  a  five-inch  pot 
make  a  good  show,  and  few  things  are  prettier  than 
their  graceful  flowers,  in  shape  and  size  somewhat 
resembling  those  of  the  clematis  montana. 

Lilies  of  the  valley  are  so  often  a  failure  that  a 
few  words  must  be  said  about  their  culture.  I  have 
tried  more  than  one  way  of  forcing  them,  but  in 
none  have  I  been  successful  except  in  that  which 
provides  a  great  heat  for  them.  Lilies  come  from 
the  salesmen  early  in  November.  If  the  weather 
at  the  time  is  frosty,  the  crowns  may  be  laid  in  an 
exposed  position  on  the  grass  for  a  night  or  two,  as 
a  few  degrees  of  cold  helps  them  to  blossom.  As 
soon  as  they  have  had  their  baptism  of  frost,  they 
may  be  potted  up  loosely  in  five-inch  pots,  as  many 
crowns  being  put  in  as  the  pots  will  hold  without 
squeezing.  The  tips  of  the  crowns  should  stand  up 
above  the  surface  of  the  soil,  and  should  be  covered 
over  with  a  good  handful  of  moss  or  cocoa  fibre, 
and  an  inverted  pot  placed  over  each  pot  of  bulbs. 
They  should  then  be  plunged  in  a  bottom  tempera- 


JANUARY  281 

ture  of  80°  to  90°,  and  the  covering  fibre  must  be 
syringed  several  times  a  day  to  keep  the  tops  moist. 
If  the  temperature  is  lower  than  I  have  indicated, 
the  leaves  will  probably  not  appear  until  the  blossoms 
are  over,  but  by  forcing  in  a  steadily  high  tempera- 
ture both  will  come  together.  Most  persons  will 
object  that  they  cannot  command  so  high  a  tempera- 
ture in  an  ordinary  greenhouse.  I  used  to  think  so 
myself  until  I  came  to  make  experiments.  Pots  on 
an  open  stage,  standing  high  above  the  stove,  will 
probably  not  find  themselves  in  anything  warmer 
than,  perhaps,  50°,  but  a  good  plunge  set  closely 
over  the  stove  and  kept  thoroughly  moist  will  often 
run  the  thermometer  up  to  90°  immediately  above 
the  greatest  point  of  warmth. 

It  is  of  no 'Use,  however,  to  attempt  to  force  lilies 
in  this  temperature  unless  means  can  be  taken  to 
prevent  their  becoming  dry.  The  roots  as  well  as 
the  tops  must  be  kept  moist  by  a  constant  applica- 
tion of  the  watering-pot  and  the  syringe  respectively. 
When  the  crowns  have  started  about  a  couple  of 
inches,  light  can  be  gradually  admitted,  until  event- 
ually full  exposure  is  permissible. 

I  have  been  planting  a  new  bed  of  lilies  of  the 
valley  in  the  open  this  winter,  after  two  previous 
failures  on  the  same  piece  of  ground.  It  is  odd 
that  very  often  this  flower  will  not  thrive  in  spots 
which  appear  in  every  respect  suited  to  it.  The 
aspect  may  be  right,  the  soil  perfect,  the  drainage 
adequate,  and  yet  the  result  may  be  unmitigated 
failure.  Three  years  ago  I  planted  several  hun- 
dreds of  crowns  in  an  apparently  suitable  spot,  and 
gave  them  the  liquid  manure  which  they  love  as 


282  JANUARY 

frequently  as  they  were  likely  to  require  it ;  for  lilies 
do  not  care  for  a  heavy  dressing  of  stable  stuff  in 
the  winter.  The  tips  of  their  crowns  should  be 
always  exposed  to  light  and  air,  for  they  love  to  see 
the  world  all  the  year  round,  so  that  nourishment 
should  be  administered  in  liquid  form.  Having 
thus  provided  carefully  for  their  wants — the  more 
carefully  because  they  were  a  costly  new  variety— 
I  watched  them  dwindling  away  to  nothingness 
through  three  seasons.  The  first  spring  there  was 
a  wealth  of  leaves  ;  the  second  there  were  compara- 
tively few  ;  the  third  I  succeeded  in  counting  twelve 
sprays,  and  never  a  flower  worthy  of  the  name 
throughout  the  whole  of  that  time.  I  am  willing  to 
ascribe  the  failure  to  the  fact  that  the  variety  was, 
as  I  have  said,  a  new  one,  that  known  as  Fortin's, 
so  I  have  lately  made  a  fresh  plantation  with  the 
old  common  sort,  and  hope  for  better  results  with 
it.  "  There's  a  deal  of  deception  in  ahdvertyse- 
ments,"  as  poor  old  Mr.  Tyler  used  to  say,  and  I 
cannot  deny  that  in  the  matter  of  garden  stuff  I 
have  been  befooled  by  them  many  a  time  and  oft. 

Jan.  22.  A  snap  of  cold  weather  has  made  me 
anxious  for  my  standard  roses,  and  I  have  tied 
wisps  of  bracken  among  their  heads.  The  bush 
plants  do  not  require  this  care,  as  they  are  carefully 
earthed  up  and  well  mulched,  so  that  even  if  the 
branches  die  back  fresh  shoots  will  spring  from  the 
crowns.  This  hard  weather  has  put  a  stop  to  the 
indefatigable  outdoor  labours  of  Sterculus,  who  is 
a  miserable  man  in  consequence.  With  so  little 
glass  as  we  possess  his  industrious  soul  is  harassed 
by  enforced  idleness,  though  he  tries  hard  to  make 


JANUARY  283 

work  enough  in  the  greenhouse  to  support  his 
ardent  spirit.  He  is  almost  as  fond  of  potting-soils 
as  of  manure,  and  has  laid  in  an  enormous  stock  of 
these,  which  he  is  now  turning  over  and  preparing 
for  spring  use.  We  cut  turves  from  a  sound  pasture 
every  year,  and  lay  them  by,  stacked  in  ridges,  to 
mature.  In  autumn  oak  and  beech  leaves  are 
collected,  and  penned  in  a  hurdle  enclosure,  for  the 
same  purpose.  When  both  have  reached  the  proper 
condition,  which  is  in  not  less  time  than  a  year, 
Sterculus  enjoys  himself,  as  he  is  doing  to-day,  by 
amalgamating  them.  Two  parts  of  the  turf  mould, 
two  of  the  leaf  mould,  one  of  material  from  a  spent 
hotbed,  and  one  of  sharp,  white  sand  make  susten- 
ance "  fit  for  a  king,"  as  he  says.  The  garden 
boy  is  kept  busy  collecting  moss  from  the  nearest 
wood,  and  pounding  up  old  pots  to  the  proper  size 
for  drainage  ;  labels  are  being  cleaned  and  painted, 
and  everything  got  into  order  for  the  day  when 
they  will  be  required. 

How  irritating  it  is  to  have  an  unmitigated 
failure !  Fond  as  I  am  of  giving  myself  good 
advice  I  frequently  find  myself  doing  all  kinds  of 
deceitful  things  to  persuade  myself  that  I  need  not 
take  it.  I  have  often  seen  the  beautiful  Bermuda 
buttercup  growing  and  flowering  bravely  in  a 
friend's  greenhouse  in  January,  and  while  admiring 
I  have  said  severely  to  myself,  "  You  will  be  ex- 
tremely foolish  if  you  spend  money  on  any  of  those 
bulbs,  for  you  know  perfectly  well  that  your  green- 
house is  not  warm  enough  for  them."  Last  year 
when  looking  over  my  catalogue  I  marked  the 
Oxalis  Bermudiana,  at  the  same  time  assuring  my- 


284  JANUARY 

self  that  my  notes  did  not  mean  anything,  for  I 
begin  by  marking  all  the  plants  I  should  like  to 
have,  and  then  winnow  them  down  to  the  things 
that  I  must  have.  But  when  the  time  came  for 
sending  my  list  to  the  salesman  in  August,  I  found 
myself  in  a  great  hurry,  and  tried  to  think  that 
I  had  no  time  to  look  through  it  and  correct  it. 
"  Of  course,"  said  the  tempter,  "  there  are  one  or 
two  things  that  you  may  have  left  in  error,  but 
time  is  valuable ;  there  is  so  much  to  be  done. 
Better  leave  the  list  as  it  is.  There  cannot  be 
more  than  one  or  two  things  that  you  did  not  mean 
to  order."  One  or  two !  They  have  seemed  like 
a  hundred  when  I  found  them  taking  up  room  that 
would  have  been  better  given  to  other  plants.  This 
buttercup,  for  instance,  seems  to  fill  a  shelf  itself, 
though  there  are  only  two  pots  of  it ;  but  they  are 
large  nine -inch  pots,  and  each  contains  a  dozen 
tubers.  The  foliage  is  beautiful,  the  colour  of  the 
flowers  perfect,  but  alas !  they  never  leave  the  bud 
stage,  because  my  greenhouse  is  not  warm  enough 
for  them.  In  March  they  will  have  a  second  period 
of  flowering,  and  will  be  a  gorgeous  mass  of  colour, 
but  I  shall  have  outdoor  things  by  that  time, 
and  these  will  have  lost  some  of  their  value  in 
consequence. 

The  violets  have  flowered  well,  but  their  stems 
are  getting  short,  so  the  soil  round  those  in  frames 
has  been  stirred,  and  some  good  old  manure  pricked 
in  among  them.  When  the  cold  snap  is  over  and 
they  yield  their  blooms  again,  they  will  be  greatly 
improved  in  consequence  of  this  attention.  Chinese 
pseonies  also  have  been  heavily  top  dressed  with 


JANUARY  285 

stable  stuff  and  charred  refuse  ;  they  have  now  been 
planted  for  four  years,  and  have  made  splendid 
clumps.  The  flowering  of  a  paeony  depends 
entirely  upon  the  strength  of  the  stool,  and  there 
is  no  plant  in  the  garden  which  benefits  by  top 
dressing  more  than  this. 

I  have  looked  through  all  the  chrysanthemum 
plants  which  have  been  turned  into  the  frames  as 
they  went  out  of  bloom,  and  have  kept  back  two 
of  each  variety  from  which  to  propagate,  consigning 
all  the  rest  to  the  rubbish  heap.  We  keep  these 
stools  as  cool  as  possible,  and  it  must  be  a  hard 
winter  that  entails  their  being  left  in  the  green- 
house for  propagating,  our  frames  being  well  pro- 
tected except  from  severe  and  long-continued  cold. 
The  colder  the  young  plants  are  kept,  short  of 
actual  frost,  the  better  they  will  be,  and  I  can  only 
recollect  one  winter  when  I  lost  them  from  frost- 
bite ;  the  following  autumn  the  results  were  not 
appreciably  less,  for  cuttings  taken  in  February 
and  March,  if  the  early  ones  fail,  prove  quite  as 
satisfactory  in  the  end  to  the  amateur  who  does 
.not  go  in  for  showing.  We  are  striking  about 
four  cuttings  round  the  sides  of  four-inch  pots;  and 
as  soon  as  the  plants  show  signs  of  growth  they 
will  be  separately  potted  in  three-inch  size,  and 
given  a  shift  as  often  as  they  require  it  until 
their  final  move  in  June.  Seeds  are  being 
sown  of  various  late-blooming  things,  such  as  snap- 
dragons, tobacco  plants,  dianthuses,  and  other 
flowers  which  may  be  wanted  in  the  summer  to 
fill  gaps  in  the  borders  and  carry  the  blossoming 
season  into  the  autumn  months.  I  have  succeeded 


286  JANUARY 

in  persuading  myself  that  an  herbaceous  garden,  once 
planted,  gives  the  maximum  of  good  results  with 
the  minimum  of  labour ;  but  there  is  no  denying 
that  a  few  packets  of  annuals  judiciously  sown  in 
the  borders  in  April,  and  a  few  clumps  of  late 
things  worked  in  among  the  early-flowering  plants 
in  June,  are  needed  to  ensure  a  succession 
throughout  the  summer.  At  the  same  time  these 
ought  to  be  such  as  would  be  naturally  expected 
in  an  herbaceous  border.  I  found  myself  once  at 
a  garden-party  given  by  a  millionaire  on  the  other 
side  of  the  county,  and  everyone  was  saying,  "Have 
you  seen  the  herbaceous  border?  Be  sure  not  to 
miss  the  herbaceous  border."  In  the  course  of 
wanderings  between  alleys  of  chopped  glass  and 
brick  and  beds  of  calceolarias  and  pelargoniums, 
in  the  search  for  something  that  really  seemed  to 
live  a  natural  life,  I  came  suddenly  upon  the  herb- 
aceous border.  But  what  a  border !  To  be  sure 
it  was  a  blaze  of  colour,  such  as,  in  unregenerate 
moments,  the  keen  gardener  is  apt  to  dream  of  as 
ideal.  But  the  first  feeling  of  surprise  became  in 
a  moment  a  shock  of  pain,  for  the  whole  thing  was 
a  cry  of  inharmonious  distress.  The  perennial 
things,  phloxes,  delphiniums,  and  the  like  were  of 
the  best  and  the  most  expensive,  but  there  was  not 
a  plant  visible  that  had  gone  out  of  bloom,  or  any 
that  might  be  expected  to  come  into  bloom  later, 
for  the  whole  display  was  carefully  arranged  for  the 
one  month  that  his  lordship  chose  to  inhabit  this 
particular  house.  There  was  a  back  row  of  dahlias 
and  other  tall  things  mixed  with  the  phloxes,  a 
middle  row  of  cannas,  tobaccos,  zinnias,  and 


JANUARY  287 

a  hundred  others  jostling  the  honest  snapdragons 
and  hybrid  pentstemons,  and  in  the  front  there  blazed 
petunias,  pelargoniums,  stocks,  marigolds,  and  count- 
less more  varieties  of  tender  things  crowding  the 
pansies  and  the  campanulas  and  the  funkias  to  their 
undeserved  extinction.  In  the  whole  there  was  no 
repose,  no  nature,  no  suggestion  of  past  beauty  or 
coming  glow  which  makes  the  herbaceous  garden 
in  its  natural  state  a  real  companion,  with  its 
promise  of  life  and  its  threat  of  death  as  real  as 
any  of  our  own,  and  as  sad  or  as  happy.  I  do  not 
want  that  sort  of  perennial  border,  but  I  am  obliged 
to  confess  that  a  little  judicious  supplement  in  late 
spring  and  early  summer  with  harmonious  additions 
is  necessary  for  the  after-appearance  of  the  garden 
picture. 

Jan.  25.  I  have  just  sent  off  to  a  friend  in  town 
a  glorious  box  of  flowers  which  might  rejoice  the 
heart  of  a  misanthrope.  It  was  one  of  those  large 
dressmaker's  boxes  in  which  they  send  home  gowns, 
and  one  feels  no  small  degree  of  pride  in  the  power 
to  fill  so  considerable  a  receptacle  at  this  time  of 
year.  "  Very  good  for  little  people,"  says  Sterculus, 
hugging  himself  with  natural  pride,  as  he  sees  the 
basketful  of  blooms  of  which  the  greenhouse  is 
reft  to  do  him  honour  in  the  metropolis,  as  he 
thinks.  I  find  there  is  only  one  way  of  packing 
flowers  to  ensure  their  arriving  in  a  perfectly  fresh 
condition.  They  are  cut  several  hours  before  they 
are  wanted,  or  perhaps  even  overnight,  and  placed 
in  large  bowls  of  water,  so  that  they  may  absorb  all 
they  can  before  the  journey.  Then  the  stems  are 
dried,  and  each  variety  is  tied  up  in  a  good-sized 


288  JANUARY 

bunch  with  bast  or  soft  worsted,  and  finally  every 
bunch  is  closely  stitched  down  with  the  yarn  to  the 
bottom  and  top  and  sides  of  the  box.  They  touch 
each  other,  but  do  not  overlap,  and  being  firmly 
fixed  and  sufficiently  moist  to  keep  the  life  in  them 
for  a  good  many  hours,  they  reach  town  as  fresh  as 
they  left  the  country. 

Yesterday  I  saw  the  best  arrangement  of  dried 
flowers  which  I  have  ever  beheld,  and  yet  it  was 
done  with  only  three  varieties,  and  those  quite  com- 
mon and  easy  to  grow,  the  whole  secret  being  in 
its  bold  arrangement.  The  large  jar  which  held 
them  was  of  plain  red  earthen  material,  and  stand- 
ing wide  rather  than  high  in  it  were  large  bunches 
of  cherry  lanterns  and  honesty,  each  grouped  boldly 
with  no  suspicion  of  spottiness,  and  both  connected 
and  softened  by  sprays  of  statice  mingled  through- 
out. It  had  been  done  by  a  keen  lover  of  flowers, 
and  the  result  was  perfectly  good. 

I  went  down  to  dinner  last  night  with  a  newly-local 
young  gentleman  who  bored  me  almost  to  death  by 
talking  for  an  hour  or  more  about  shootin'  and 
huntin'.  About  the  time  of  dessert,  however,  when 
he  had  finished  his  say  and  began  to  cast  about  in 
his  mind  for  a  topic  likely  to  interest  me  in  return 
for  my  kindness  in  listening  to  him,  he  embarked 
upon  the  subjects  of  ethnic  distribution  and  local 
history,  and  the  following  dialogue  took  place  : — 

"  Interestin'  part  of  the  country  this,  ain't  it  ? " 

"  Very  interesting ;  but  why  this  part  of  the 
country  specially  ?  " 

"  Oh,  because  hist'ry  began  here,  don'tcherknow; 
early  colonists  and  that  sorterthing." 


JANUARY  289 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know." 

"What!  not  about  King  Alfred?  He  was  the  first 
man  that  settled  in  England  and  took  possession  of 
these  parts,  don'tchersee  ?  There  wasn't  anybody 
here  till  he  came,  and  it's  so  jolly  to  feel  that  we 
live  in  the  oldest  inhabited  part  of  the  country. 
Gives  you  a  kinder  feelin'  that  you've  come  to 
the  right  place,  don'tcherknow." 

And  until  we  left  the  dining-room  he  was  kind 


" INTERESTIN'  PART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  THIS" 

enough  to  instruct  me  at  large  upon  this  interesting 
topic,  and  I  am  free  to  admit  that  I  enjoyed  myself 
thoroughly. 

Jan.  ji.  I  have  just  had  a  letter  from  Petunia 
announcing  her  engagement  to  Mr.  Thomas  Spencer 
Moreville,  of  Redlands  Park,  Surbiton,  and  Arden- 
braughtantinny,  Inverness-shire.  I  am  delighted  that 
she  is  happy,  but  I  cannot  help  feeling  sorry  for 
poor  Mr.  Mumby,  who,  as  I  have  now  begun  to 
believe,  has  been  shockingly  treated. 
u 


FEBRUARY 

Feb.  QTERCULUS  has  gone  off  early  this 
2-  wZ5  morning  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  sick  sister, 
who  lives  a  dozen  miles  or  more  away  across  the 
North  Downs.  He  dislikes  holidays  so  much  on 
principle  that  it  is  always  a  surprise  when  he  con- 
sents to  take  one.  I  have  the  garden  all  to  myself, 
and  have  raided  the  greenhouse  and  cast  out  into 

o 

the  void  several  worthless  plants  which  no  appeal 
could  prevail  upon  him  to  sacrifice.  I  shall  have  a 
bad  ten  minutes  to-morrow  morning,  but  in  the 
meantime  the  night's  frost  will  have  set  a  seal 
upon  my  decision  and  made  the  reinstatement  of 
his  favourites  impossible. 

It  makes  one  happy  even  to  think  of  double 
rockets !  They  are  among  the  most  valuable  of 
flowers  for  scent  and  pleasant  association,  for  they 
are  real  old  English  things,  I  am  convinced,  though 
the  horticultural  books  assign  them  to  Southern 
Europe  and  Asia.  If  Shakespeare  did  not  know 
and  love  them  I  am  sorry  for  him.  But  I  am  sure 
that  there  was  a. large  patch  of  them  in  the  garden 
at  New  Place — rockets  must  always  be  grown  in 
large  patches — and  that  he  walked  among  them  and 
enjoyed  their  fragrance  on  many  a  morning  of  May 

290 


FEBRUARY  291 

and  June.  They  are  always  associated  in  my  mind 
with  Stratford-on-Avon,  because  the  only  week 
I  have  spent  there  was  made  glorious  by  an 
enormous  bunch  of  them  given  me  by  a  friendly 
market-gardener.  It  was  my  first  acquaintance 
with  the  flower,  and  the  remembrance  of  my  huge 
posy  is  the  only  really  happy  one  which  I  can 
conjure  up  in  connection  with  the  great  poet's  birth- 
place, because  no  one  who  loves  him  should  on  any 
account  be  persuaded  to  visit  Stratford-on-Avon. 

There  are,  of  course,  rockets  and  rockets.  The 
tall  single  ones  are  those  most  generally  known, 
and  sometimes  one  sees  whole  borders  invaded  by 
them,  so  easily  do  they  propagate  themselves  by 
scattering  their  seed  far  and  wide  around  them. 
These  single  kinds,  however,  are  only  fit  for  the 
wild  garden.  But  the  double  rocket  is  worthy  of 
the  best  place,  and  probably  it  would  be  more 
grown  than  it  is  if  it  was  not  rather  troublesome  to 
keep  in  stock. 

February  is  as  good  a  month  as  any  for  the 
planting  of  rockets,  though  this  may  be  done  in 
the  autumn  with  equally  favourable  results.  The 
point  to  bear  in  mind  is  that  at  some  period  of  its 
yearly  growth  root-division  must  be  resorted  to, 
for  if  left  to  itself  the  plant  dies  out  and  disappears. 
In  consequence  of  this  demand  it  has  been  con- 
demned as  only  half  hardy,  whereas  it  is  in  truth 
one  of  the  hardiest  things  in  the  a-arden.  In  some 

o  o 

of  the  coldest  parts  of  Scotland  it  flourishes 
amazingly,  and  it  will  flourish  equally  well 
wherever  its  idiosyncrasy  is  recognised  and  pro- 
vided for. 


292  FEBRUARY 

When  the  plant  has  done  flowering  many  root- 
buds  push  into  growth,  and  at  the  time  of  propaga- 
tion it  is  necessary  to  divide  these  portions  as  freely 
as  possible,  including  with  each  a  part  of  the  old 
root.  They  may  be  replanted  on  the  same  spot, 
each  division  a  few  inches  from  its  neighbour,  in 
well-manured  soil ;  and  it  is  necessary  to  bear  in 
mind  that  these  things  should  not  be  spotted  about 
a  border,  but  should  have  a  certain  amount  of 
ground  given  over  solely  to  themselves.  It  may 
not  be  more  than  a  square  yard  that  can  be  spared, 
but  however  little  may  be  appropriated  to  them, 
it  should  be  given  ungrudgingly,  because  they  will 
well  repay  the  consideration. 

In  some  soils  the  double  rocket  will  stand  for  two 
years  without  requiring  division,  but  in  this  circum- 
stance it  is  well  in  the  summer  to  stop  the  sprays 
by  overhead  cutting  back,  so  as  to  induce  young- 
growth  from  the  main  stem.  This  may  also  be 
done  if  division  of  the  roots  is  contemplated. 
As  the  caterpillar  is  fond  of  this  plant,  a  look-out 
should  be  kept  for  it  on  the  young  foliage,  where 
it  loves  to  seek  out  the  heart,  and  to  weaken 
and  perhaps  destroy  the  very  point  of  growth. 
The  best  kind  of  double  rocket  to  grow  is  the 
old  dwarf  white  variety,  with  rather  small,  compact 
flowers. 

Other  things  rarely  seen  in  gardens  are  the  new 
forms  of  snowdrop.  I  suppose  it  is  because  the 
old  kind  is  so  common,  and  consequently  new  bulbs 
are  seldom  wanted,  that  the  rarer  ones  are  in- 
frequently seen  amongst  us.  Yet  the  ordinary 
Galanthus  nivalis  is  much  inferior  to  these  newer 


FEBRUARY  293 

varieties,  of  which  those\of  Elwes  and  Foster  rank 
deservedly  high.  I  have  only  tried  Galanthus 
Elwesii  myself,  and  I  find  it  quite  satisfactory, 
although  it  is  planted  in  ground  heavier  than  this 
form  is  said  to  thrive  in,  for  it  likes  a  light  soil,  and 
if  peat  can  be  added  it  is  very  happy  indeed.  My 
Elwes  bulbs  are  flowering  well  now,  though  the 
old  kind  is  not  yet  in  bloom,  and  with  them  are 
studding  the  grass  many  yellow  winter  aconites, 
the  first  harbingers  of  spring.  Horticultural  man- 
uals tell  us  to  plant  the  winter  aconite  in  good 
heavy  soil,  but  experience  teaches  that  the  horti- 
culturist may  sometimes  nod,  for  my  bulbs,  which 
are  planted  in  good  old  loamy  ground,  are  never 
robust  or  free  in  their  flowering,  while  those  of  a 
neighbour  which  are  grown  beneath  the  eaves  of 
the  house  in  dry  poor  soil  have  flowers  double  the 
size  of  mine,  and  long  stems  which  make  them 
unusually  good  for  cutting — a  quality  rarely  present 
in  the  winter  aconite. 

There  is  as  yet  little  that  can  be  done  out  of 
doors,  for  the  danger  of  winter's  treachery  is  not 
yet  over,  and  it  behoves  the  gardener  to  be  wary 
in  his  doings.  This  is  a  good  time,  however,  to 
look  through  the  rose  trees,  and  to  remove  all  wiry, 
twiggy  wood,  if  it  has  not  hitherto  been  done.  In 
the  case  of  standards  this  is,  in  my  opinion,  almost 
all  the  pruning  that  need  be  effected,  but  it  is 
very  important ;  good  roses  will  not  grow  on  thin, 
wiry  wood,  and  the  more  that  is  cut  out  the  better 
will  be  the  result.  But  it  is  not  only  poor  wood 
that  must  be  got  rid  of,  but  also  superfluous  wood, 
to  let  in  air  and  light  to  the  heart  of  the  tree  ; 


294  FEBRUARY 

Baroness  Rothschild  and  her  sports,  for  instance, 
yield  comparatively  little  thin  growth,  yet  they 
need  the  knife  as  much  as  many  others,  because 
they  grow  so  much  wood  at  the  heart. 

A  good  hedge  of  sweet  peas  has  just  been  drilled, 
to  come  on  in  succession  to  those  sown  in  Novem- 
ber. They  were  of  mixed  sorts,  while  these  are 
all  of  mauve,  and  lilac,  and  purple  shades,  each  in 
its  own  patch,  with  some  good  white  kinds  inter- 
spersed. The  next  sowing  will  be  in  April,  when 
a  hedge  of  pinks  and  reds  will  be  grown  for  late 
cutting,  as  well  as  another  of  mixed  varieties. 

I  should  like  to  re-plant  the  carnations  which 
were  not  sufficiently  well  rooted  to  be  taken  last 
autumn  from  their  parent  stems,  but  the  weather  is 
threatening,  and  winter  seems  likely  to  come  back 
again  ;  so  these  must  wait  till  we  are  more  assured 
of  fair  skies  and  genial  winds,  for  the  end  of  the 
month  will  not  be  too  late  for  this  purpose.  And 
in  the  meantime  I  fear  we  shall  have  to  resign  the 

o 

hope  of  spring's  coming,  whose  promise  has  been 
in  the  air  for  a  fortnight  or  more,  and  to  get  back 
to  greenhouse  work,  for  the  thermometer  has  fallen 
twenty  degrees  since  yesterday,  and  there  is  every 
reason  to  fear  a  gale  of  snow  and  raging  wind. 

"  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 
As  man's  ingratitude," 

for  at  the  first  taste  of  spring  the  gardener  hastens 
to  leave  the  sheltering  greenhouse  which  has  pro- 
vided blossoms  in  abundance  for  several  months, 
and  to  seek  his  treasure  in  the  open,  grudging 
every  hour  that  has  to  be  spent  under  a  roof.  Yet 


FEBRUARY  295 

the  greenhouse  is  still  gay  with  things  of  far  greater 
beauty  than  could  by  dint  of  any  effort  be  found 
outside  it.  Nearly  all  the  flowers  that  made  Jan- 
uary bright  are  still  growing  there,  and  it  is  only 
that  the  natural  impatience  of  the  human  finds  it 
irksome  to  bestow  labour  on  the  old,  well-known 
plants.  Perhaps  it  is  because  the  time  of  its 
greatest  usefulness  is  drawing  to  an  end,  and  when 
March  comes  in  we  shall  depend  for  but  few  of  our 
joys  on  its  sheltering  care.  Even  now  seed-pans 
are  jostling  the  growing  pots,  and  the  signs  of  the 
time  of  propagation  which  is  beginning  for  the  en- 
suing summer  without,  and  for  the  following  winter 
within  doors,  are  everywhere  visible  to  the  eye. 
For  February  is  the  natural  end  of  the  year,  being 
the  time  of  the  completion  of  winter's  promise  as 
well  as  that  of  the  reiteration  of  summer's.  Old 
things  pass  away,  and  all  things  become  new. 

But  although  the  time  is  approaching  when  the 
greenhouse  will  hardly  be  a  recognised  factor  in  the 
providing  of  the  bulk  of  our  flowers,  yet  there  are 
always  wanted  a  certain  number  of  pot  plants  for 
the  house,  or  to  furnish  a  cold  greenhouse  if  one 
there  is.  The  aim  of  the  amateur,  as  I  have  con- 
stantly iterated,  is  or  should  be  to  provide  for  the 
summer  season  with  things  which  do  not  take  up 
much  room  in  winter  on  the  stages  and  shelves. 
From  March  to  June  the  main  supply  for  this 
purpose  may  be  the  show  pelargonium  ;  and  from 
June  to  October  begonias,  achimenes,  and  gloxinias, 
which  have  been  laid  on  their  sides  on  the  green- 
house floor  for  several  months,  together  with  various 
annuals  suited  to  pot  culture,  which  may  now 


296  FEBRUARY 

be  sown.  The  pelargoniums  have  been  crowded 
unduly,  yet  not  greatly  to  their  hurt,  first  in  cold 
frames,  and  later  in  a  light  part  of  the  greenhouse  ; 
but  now  they  are  given  the  best  place,  and  are 
treated  as  honoured  guests.  They  are  separated 
out  and  regarded  as  individuals,  and,  if  necessary, 
are  repotted  without  disturbance  of  the  ball,  and 
presently  buds  will  appear,  the  plants  will  ^cpand 
generally,  and  good  results  will  follow.  One  of 
mine  which,  last  year,  received  this  necessarily 
inadequate  consideration  in  the  early  part  of  the 
winter  became  later  as  good  a  plant  as  ever  I 
beheld,  with  nineteen  large  trusses  adorning  it,  and 
the  others  were  not  far  behind. 

To  associate  with  these  in  the  spring  there  will 
be  some  belated  primulas  and  zonal  pelargoniums, 
with  a  Harris  lily  or  two,  so  that  I  may  consider 
the  house  provided  for  until  the  first  days  of 
summer,  and  now  is  the  time  to  make  provision  for 
a  succession.  The  tuberous  begonias  have  to  be 
looked  over,  and  any  which  show  signs  of  growth 
are  knocked  out  of  their  soil  and  planted  either  in 
boxes  or  separately  in  three-inch  pots,  in  either  case 
to  be  repotted  later.  It  is  necessary  to  recollect 
that  the  top  of  the  corm  must  not  be  buried. 
Moreover,  nearly  all  begonias  after  their  winter 
rest  are  hollow-crowned,  and  in  watering  care  must 
be  taken  that  this  hollow  is  not  filled  with  water,  or 
the  bulb  will  rot. 

Achimenes  and  gloxinias  may  be  started  in 
succession  to  the  begonias,  but  as  they  like  rather 
more  warmth,  it  is  well,  if  the  house  is  now  kept 
cooler  than  in  the  early  winter,  to  wait  until  the 


FEBRUARY 


297 


garden  hotbed  is  made  up,  and  to  bring  them  on 
with  its  aid. 

Feb.  j.  Sterculus  did  not  come  home  last  night, 
and  this  morning  the  whole  village  has  been  anxious 
about  him.  But  about  midday  he  stumbled  with 
uncertain  steps  into  his  kitchen,  where  Mrs.  Sterculus 
was  recounting  to  me  the  various  deaths  she  had 


STERCULUS   SANK    INTO   THE   NEAREST   CHAIR 

heard  of  in  the  snows  of  past  winters.  He  flung 
his  hat  on  the  table  and  sank  into  the  nearest  chair 
without  a  greeting  to  either  of  us. 

"  Lor',  what  ails  you  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Sterculus,  and 
at  the  question  the  poor  man's  hair  stood  upright 
on  his  head,  a  phenomenon  I  have  often  heard  of, 
but  never  before  witnessed.  We  stayed  him  with 


298  FEBRUARY 

stimulants  and  comforted  him  with  strong-  broth, 
and  after  a  few  hours'  rest  on  the  ancestral  couch, 
which  is  the  glory  of  his  kitchen,  he  felt  sufficiently 
restored  to  tell  his  tale.  He  has  just  been  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  one  of  Jim's  study  chairs  recounting 
the  terrible  experience  of  the  night. 

It  appears  that  he  left  his  sister's  house  about 
twilight  yesterday  for  the  long  walk  home,  which 
lay  first  across  a  corner  of  the  downs,  and  after- 
wards by  more  familiar  roads  along  the  valley. 
The  snow,  which  had  threatened  for  days,  was 
falling  thickly,  and  he  had  some  difficulty  in  finding 
his  way.  When  he  had  been  walking  for  about 
two  hours,  and  had  not  yet  left  the  high  ground,  he 
knew  that  he  had  lost  himself,  so  he  pulled  up 
suddenly,  and  then  continued  to  walk  onward  be- 
cause no  other  course  was  open  to  him.  It  would 
have  been  folly  to  go  back,  ignorant  as  he  was  of 
his  whereabouts.  But  he  began  to  feel  nervous, 
for  he  is  no  braver  in  the  dark  than  other  Wessex 
men,  and  he  goes  in  sore  fear  of  the  unknown. 

He  felt  the  ground  before  him  with  his  stick  at 
every  step,  for  he  knew  there  were  treacherous 
hollows  on  these  uplands  into  which  he  might  fall 
and  lie  without  discovery  until  the  returning  spring. 
His  relief  was  great  when  he  was  brought  up  after 
a  time  by  a  fence,  of  which  his  blackthorn  gave 
him  warning".  He  followed  the  fence  until  its 

o 

circumference  was  broken  by  a  small  wicket  gate, 
through  which  he  entered,  and  found  himself  walk- 
ing up  the  narrow  path  of  a  cottage  garden. 

He  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  cottage,  but  no 
one  answered.  Then  he  made  snowballs,  and 


THE  BOLTS  WERE  DRAWN   BY  AN  AGED   MAN 


FEBRUARY  299 

directed  them  at  imagihary  upper  windows,  and 
presently  he  rejoiced  when  he  detected  by  the 
sound  of  broken  glass  that  a  missile  had  reached 
its  goal.  A  light  appeared  through  the  curtain, 
and  in  answer  to  his  shouting  he  heard  feet 
clumping  down  the  stairs.  The  bolts  of  the  door 
were  drawn  by  an  aged  man. 

"Ask  your  pardon,"  said  Sterculus. 

The  man  only  looked  at  him.  He  was  a  shock- 
headed  creature  with  wild,  bloodshot  eyes,  low  of 
stature,  and  shaking  with  palsy.  When  he  had 
satisfied  his  curiosity  about  his  disturber  he  tried 
to  shut  the  door  again,  but  Sterculus  had  put  his 
hob -nailed  boot  against  it.  The  shock -headed 
man  exploded  in  fits  of  cackling  laughter,  and 
shufHed  upstairs  with  his  candle,  leaving  Sterculus 
to  enter  or  not  as  he  would.  It  was  a  choice 
between  a  night  in  the  open  or  the  company  of  an 
imbecile,  and  he  made  the  only  decision  possible. 
He  stepped  inside,  bolted  the  door,  lighted  himself 
to  the  living-room  with  a  match,  and  sat  down  in 
the  elbow-chair  by  the  fireside.  There  were  a 
few  live  embers,  and  he  drew  them  together  and 
fell  asleep  over  them,  impelled  by  sheer  exhaus- 
tion. 

He  awoke  with  a  start,  not  knowing  how  long 
he  had  slept,  and  it  was  some  moments  before  he 
realised  his  position.  The  hearth  was  black,  but 
the  room  was  illumined  by  a  light  not  of  earth— 
a  light  diffused  dimly  and  equally  through  the 
kitchen.  By  his  chair  there  stood  a  tall  figure  clad 
in  garments  such  as  his  own  grandfather  had  worn 
fifty  years  ago.  The  face  was  pale  and  stern,  and 


300  FEBRUARY 

even  in  his  terror  Sterculus  was  aware  that  the 
form  which  stood  over  him  was  not  a  substantial 
one,  for  through  and  beyond  it  there  shone  the 
weird  blue  light  of  another  world.  He  would  have 

o 

stood  up  like  a  man  to  any  human  intruder,  but  this 
ghostly  visitor  knocked  him  completely  out  of  time, 
and  he  fell  to  his  knees,  crying— 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Ghost,  don't  'ee  hurt  I  !  " 

His  hair  stood  upright  again  on  his  head  at  the 
reminiscence,  and  he  continued  his  story  in  trem- 
bling accents,  and  with  that  resort  to  the  vernacular 
which  distinguishes  him  when  he  is  much  agitated. 

"  '  Rise  ! '  says  the  ghost,  '  rise  ! '  a  says,  an'  I 
stood  'pright  on  my  feet. 

" '  Be  you  afeard  on  ma  ? '  a  axed  in  a  tarrifyin' 
voice. 

"  '  No,  sir,'  says  I,  but  I  'lows  my  own  voice  he 
trembled  a  good  un. 

"  '  Will  you  listen  to  my  tale  ? '  a  says. 

11 '  I'd  liefer  not,  sir,'  says  I. 

"'Why  not?'  a  bellocks  fit  to  bring  the  house 
down. 

"  '  I  dunno,'  says  I,  glutchin'  in  ma  throat  an' 
martly  frowtened. 

"  *  Hark ! '  says  the  ghost,  wi'  a  cold  forefinger 
on  my  wrist.  '  By  all  you  holds  sacred  hearken  to 
ma.  Do  'ee  feel  like  as  if  'ee  was  goin'  to  swoon  ?' 

"  '  No,  Mr.  Ghost,'  I  says,  '  I  wasn't  never  one  to 
swoon,  not  like  my  brother  Meshach.' 

"  '  That  is  well,'  a  says,  '  fer  if  you  swoons  I  must 
disappear.' 

"I  wished  then  as  I  was  a  swoonder,  but  I  knowed 
'twas  no  good  to  try  actin'  on't  wi'  a  ghost,  so  I  set 


FEBRUARY 


301 


there  a-hearkenin'  to  his^  scroopittin'  voice,  wi'  a 
gnawin'  in  my  innards  as  made  my  heart  quop  like 
an  old  pump.  You  minds,  ma'am,  how  our  garden 
pump  quops  since  he  was  froze  laist  winter?" 


"OH,  MR.  GHOST,  DON'T  'EE  HURT  i!" 

I  remember  very  well.  Sterculus  reminds  me 
of  its  ailment  about  once  a  week,  being  desirous  of 
a  new  one. 

"  Listen  ! "  said  the  ghost.  "  For  fifty  years  I 
have  haunted  this  cottage,  ever  in  the  hope  that 
I  might  compel  someone  to  hearken  to  my  story. 


302  FEBRUARY 

I  lived  here  and  died  here,  and  I  have  appeared 
to  every  person  who  has  lived  in  this  house  ;  but 
they  have  been  but  two  or  three,  and  I  could  not 
make  them  understand.  When  that  old  man  came, 
forty  years  ago,  I  rejoiced  ;  but,  alas !  he  was  not 
only  deaf,  but  foolish.  In  the  one  hour  that  I  am 
nightly  permitted  to  appear  I  touch  him,  and  he 
opens  his  eyes  and  sees  in  the  room  my  spirit  light. 
He  says,  '  Darn  that  there  moon ! '  and  turns  on  his 
side  and  sleeps  again.  But  now  you  are  here,  and 
I  can  rid  me  of  my  secret.  I  am  a  robber  and  a 
murderer." 

"Oh  no,  Mr.  Ghost,  don't  'ee  say  that,"  cried 
Sterculus. 

"  Listen.  There  was  a  man  of  Oldborough  who 
owned  a  flock  of  sheep.  He  came  to  Ilsley  Fair 
across  these  downs,  and  sold  them  for  a  good  price. 
Sheep  were  worth  money  in  those  days.  He  drank 
at  half  a  dozen  inns  before  he  left  the  village. 
What  wonder,  then,  that  he  lost  his  way  on 
these  downs,  that  he  came  hither  to  my  house, 
that  I  saw  his  money  while  he  slept  his  drunken 
sleep,  and  that  I  killed  him  ?  Do  you  blame  me 
for  it  ?  " 

"  I  d-dunno,  sir,"  mumbled  Sterculus. 

"  I  got  rid  of  the  body,  but  I  was  afraid  of  the 
money.  Look  out  of  the  window  ;  you  will  see  a 
pile  of  stones  on  the  ridge,  and  near  it  a  thorn  tree 
grows.  Under  that  thorn  the  gold  is  buried.  Cut 
down  the  tree,  dig  up  the  money,  take  it  for  your- 
self, and  live  like  a  gentleman.  '  Live  like  a  gentle- 
man, an'  lie  on  a  sofa  fer  the  rest  of  your  life,'  says 
he,"  concluded  Sterculus,  "an'  then  a  went.  I 


FEBRUARY  303 

couldn't  see  the  manner  on't  ;  all  I  can  swear  to  is 
that  a  went. 

"  I  ups  an'  outs  to  the  shed,  an'  got  an  axe  an'  a 
peck  an'  spade,  fer  the  marnin'  was  breakin'  by  then. 
The  snow'd  disappeared  like  a  merracle,  an'  the 
ground  under  the  tree  was  all  of  a  mash,  so  I 
knowed  'twas  a  real  ghost  as  had  made  it  ready  fer 
ma.  But  first  I  had  to  cut  down  the  thorn  tree,  an' 
I  set  to  wi'  a  will,  bein'  amindted  to  get  the  money 
an'  set  out  fer  home.  But  when  I  laid  the  axe 
athurt  the  stem  I  knowed  'twas  bewitched.  It 
weren't  a  fellin'  sound  as  that  there  axe  made  ;  it 
rang  like  as  if  'twas  iron  it  was  meetin'.  Then  I 
knowed  that  the  ghost  had  been  a-gammuttin'  on 
ma,  and  that  I  shouldn't  never  see  that  gold.  An' 
sure  'nough,  wi'out  a  word  o'  warnin',  he  catched 
ma  up,  an'  swep'  ma  back  to  the  cottage  an'  in  at 
winder,  an'  left  ma  belabourin'  the  kitchen  kettle 
wi'  the  poker." 

"  But  where  was  the  axe?"  asked  Jim,  with  a 
grave  face. 

"  He'd  a-changed  it  into  a  poker." 

"  But  isn't  it  possible  that  you  dreamt  it  all  ? 
You  woke  up  from  a  bad  dream  and  found  the 
poker  in  your  hand." 

"  'Twas  worse'n  that,"  said  Sterculus  ;  "  it  weren't 
on'y  that  he'd  'chanted  me  an'  the  axe  too ;  he  dood 
worse'n  that." 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"  There  was  a  hole  in  the  kettle's  side,  an'  the 
water  all  a-runnin'  on  to  the  floor.  It  fair  mammered 
ma.  I  knowed  what  I'd  ha'  done  to  arra  man  as 
treated  my  kettle  like  that ;  an'  I  wouldn't  stop  to 


304  FEBRUARY 

face  the  old  shacket  upstairs  as  mightn't  see  'twas 
a  ghostie's  doin'.  I  took  an'  run,  an'  I  runned 
a'most  till  I  got  home.  If  Sarah  wants  to  see  ma 
again  she  must  come  yer  ;  I  wouldn't  go  anighst 
that  there  cottage  no  more  not  fer  all  the  sisters  as 
ever  was.  Nor  for  all  the  missuses  neether,"  he 
added,  as  an  after-thought.  But  whether  it  was  of 
Mrs.  Sterculus  that  he  was  thinking  or  of  myself, 
who  for  weeks  had  urged  him  to  visit  the  bed-ridden 
Sarah,  I  have  no  means  of  judging. 

I  am  certain  only  of  one  thing.  So  long  as 
Sterculus  lives  he  will  believe  that  he  saw  a  ghost 
in  that  lonely  cottage,  and  he  will  bring  as  in- 
disputable evidence  the  tale  of  the  blue  spirit  light 
that  shone  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  incident  of  the 
axe  changed  by  enchantment  into  a  poker.  And 
these  evidences  will  be  sufficient  to  prove  his  case 
to  his  rustic  hearers.  There  was  less  proof  than 
this  for  the  appearance  of  Daddy  King's  ghost  in 
our  lane  near  by,  and  nobody  would  dream  of  casting 
any  doubt  upon  the  story  of  its  manifestation. 

Feb.  7.  I  am  rather  ashamed  to  confess  it,  after 
my  good  advice  to  myself  about  crowding  the 
greenhouse  shelves  through  the  winter  with  plants 
which  do  not  bloom  until  spring,  but  one  of  my 
chief  joys  for  the  near  future  is  a  collection  of  pots 
of  the  lovely  stock  Mauve  Beauty,  which,  from 
seed  sown  in  July  in  five-inch  pots,  and  thinned 
to  four  plants  in  each,  is  now  a  picture  of  colour 
as  well  as  delightful  in  scent.  And,  after  all,  it 
was  not  for  long  that  they  occupied  the  stage 
before  they  began  to  show  bud,  for  the  winter 
was  so  mild  that  they  had  cold-frame  treatment 


FEBRUARY  305 

until  after  Christmas,  and  are  all  the  better  for  it. 
When  they  go  out  of  flower  they  will  be  planted 
in  the  borders,  and  after  they  have  recovered 
themselves  a  little  they  will  begin  again  to  bloom, 
and  will  continue  decorative  all  through  the 
summer.  So  I  am  able  without  much  effort  to 
persuade  myself  that  it  was  right  to  grow  them, 
for  they  give  better  and  longer  results  than  almost 
any  other  plants  of  my  acquaintance. 

Another  thing  which  is  at  its  best  is  the  spirea 
longifolia,  which  also  for  a  time  received  cold-frame 
treatment,  and  is  now  a  mass  of  feathery  whiteness. 
It  will  last  in  good  condition  in  the  drawing-room 
for  six  weeks  or  more,  and  is  a  great  improvement 
on  the  older  forms  of  this  plant.  My  cyclamens 
are  an  unmitigated  failure,  as  they  never  show  a 
a  mass  of  blooms  at  one  time,  and  although  some- 
thing may  be  attributed  to  incorrect  treatment  last 
summer,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  corms  are 
getting  too  old  to  give  the  best  results,  and  I  shall 
buy  some  fresh  seedlings  from  a  good  strain  next 
August. 

Most  persons  are  fond  of  dahlias  and  salvia 
patens,  and  it  will  soon  be  time  to  propagate  these, 
if  the  stock  is  to  be  increased.  If  the  roots  are 
started  in  heat  they  will  throw  up  cuttings  which 
will  be  good  flowering  plants  next  summer.  The 
old  stools  have  been  kept  through  the  winter  in 
the  cellar.  The  gathering  together  of  plants  and 
bulbs  from  various  places  of  safety  in  the  spring, 
by  a  gardener  who  is  short  of  glasshouse  room, 
partakes  of  the  nature  of  the  prophetic  gathering 
together  of  the  dry  bones  of  Scripture.  They 


306  FEBRUARY 

come  from  all  corners  and  nooks  of  vantage,  from 
loft  and  shed  and  cellar  and  attic,  and  from  beneath 
the  greenhouse  stage,  and  when  the  congestion 
of  the  house  begins  to  be  somewhat  relieved  they 
are  given  prominent  places  and  made  much  of, 
as  though  they  had  never  been  ruthlessly  con- 
demned to  exile  ;  and  they  are  so  longsuffering 
and  kind  that  they  behave  as  though  they  had  been 
treated  in  most  generous  fashion,  and  withhold  none 
of  their  beauties  for  our  punishment  as  they  might 
so  easily  do. 

If  the  asparagus  nanus  is  required  for  cutting 
next  winter,  it  should  now  be  given  a  respite  from 
the  scissors,  for  it  is  throwing  out  new  frond-spikes 
in  abundance.  When  Sterculus  first  came  to  us 
he  was  quite  ignorant  of  the  culture  of  flowers, 
and  for  one  or  two  winters  I  found  that  these  new 
fronds  were  conspicuous  by  their  reluctance  to 
appear,  as  it  seemed.  It  turned  out  that  he  had 
cut  them  off  with  the  greatest  assiduity  and  care 
as  soon  as  they  grew  above  the  old  foliage,  thinking 
the  twiggy  growths  untidy  and  obtrusive  beyond 
their  due.  He  is  now  sowing  Marguerite  carna- 
tions and  Chinese  pinks,  which,  as  soon  as  they  have 
germinated,  will,  if  the  weather  permits,  be  moved 
to  a  cold  frame,  for  it  does  not  suit  them  to  remain 
in  heat  after  top  growth  has  shown  itself,  or  their 
constitution  becomes  weakened.  The  dianthuses 
will  fill  gaps  in  the  herbaceous  borders  for  autumn 
blooming,  while  the  carnations  will  occupy  a  reserve 
bed  near  the  kitchen  garden  for  cutting.  Other 
seeds  there  are  which  have  soon  to  be  sown,  such 
as  petunias,  tobaccos,  verbenas,  and  marigolds ; 


FEBRUARY  307 

and  the  propagation  of  chrysanthemums  goes  on 
apace,  for  the  cuttings  raised  now  will  probably 
be  our  best  when  autumn  comes.  They  will  be 
good  strong  plants  without  a  suspicion  of  drawing, 
for  their  treatment  will  be  entirely  on  the  cold 

system. 

"  February  fill  dyke 
Either  with  black  or  white." 

Feb.  14.  So  the  old  saw  goes,  and  this  year 
it  is  with  deep  white  snow  that  our  ditches  are  to 
be  filled  and  our  springs  replenished.  It  has  come 
suddenly,  and  the  birds,  misled  by  the  winter's  early 
mildness,  have  kept  no  store  of  berries  to  sustain 
them  in  days  of  famine.  They  come  round  the 
house  in  whirling  crowds,  begging  for  relief  which 
is  freely  given  them,  and  showing  their  gratitude 
by  increasing  confidence  and  friendliness.  It  is 
amusing  to  watch  them  every  morning  when  the' 
bird-table  and  tray  have  been  laden  with  good  things, 
and  the  giver  has  retired  and  left  them  to  the  feast. 

The  table  happens  to  be  placed  on  part  of  the 
property  belonging  to  the  robin  who  lives  under 
the  elm  tree,  and  he  takes  a  proprietary  interest  in 
it  apart  from  his  appreciation  of  the  food  upon  it. 
I  believe  that  every  robin  in  a  garden  has  a  portion 
of  ground  which  he  regards  as  his  particular 
preserve.  This  is  undoubtedly  the  case  with 
our  little  birds.  When  crumbs  are  placed  on  the 
table  the  robin  of  the  elm  tree  flies  down  to  it,  and 
walks  round  in  a  menacing  way.  Sparrows  may 
come  and  eat,  but  no  other  robins  may  approach  ; 
if  any  is  foolhardy  enough  to  do  so,  he  is  driven 
away  with  vicious  pecks  and  dashes.  Presently, 


308  FEBRUARY 

when  he  has  asserted  himself  in  what  he  considers 
an  adequate  manner,  the  robin  of  the  elm  tree  eats 
his  breakfast  and  retires  to  his  hiding  place  in  the 
hedge,  and  the  robins  of  the  holly  tree  and  of  the 
apple  tree  are  allowed  to  satisfy  their  natural 
craving  for  food.  This  routine  is  invariable,  and 
the  consequence  is  that  the  elm-tree  bird  has  been 
fat  and  well-liking  throughout  the  winter,  while  his 
poorer  relatives  have  a  seedy  appearance,  due 
partly  to  only  half-appeased  hunger,  and  partly  to 
some  loss  of  natural  dignity  arising  through 
persecution.  For  the  chief  characteristic  of  the 
robin  is  personal  pride  and  vainglory.  He  will 
not  associate  with  robins  in  a  walk  of  life  different 
from  his  own.  He  loves  the  neighbourhood  of 
human  beings,  whom,  doubtless,  he  considers  fit 
associates  for  his  important  little  self,  and  I  have 
known  a  robin  who  never  failed  to  fly  out  from  the 
hedge  and  welcome  me  whenever  I  came  in  from 
my  daily  walk.  But  other  robins  he  dislikes  and 
distrusts  in  the  same  way  that  an  Englishman 
abroad  dislikes  and  distrusts  all  Englishmen  he 
meets,  while  holding  out  the  hand  of  fellowship 
to  persons  of  a  nationality  other  than  his  own. 
"  I  hate  to  be  mixed  up  with  that  holly- tree  fellow," 
says  the  elm-tree  robin  as  plainly  as  possible  to  his 
human  friends ;  and  the  holly-tree  fellow  knows 
it  well,  and  takes  a  small  satisfaction  by  despising 
the  apple-tree  fellow  who  lives  in  the  kitchen 
garden,  and  is  in  consequence  a  mere  rustic,  and 
of  no  account  whatever  in  the  more  aristocratic 
circles  of  the  robin  world. 

Before  the  smaller  birds  have  finished  their  meal 


FEBRUARY 


309 


there  is  audible  a  great  fluttering  of  heavy  wings, 
and  the  sentinel  starling  has  brought  his  relations 
to  the  feast.  The  starlings  have  not  packed  this 
winter — nor  indeed  for  the  last  three  or  four  winters 
—but  are  still  living  in  the  neighbourhood  of  houses 
after  their  summer  fashion.  Doubtless  they  know 
better  than  we  do  when  a  mild  season  is  coming, 
and  will  not  trouble  themselves  to  change  their 
quarters  except  in  times  of  necessity.  They  live  in 
holes  in  the  thatch,  and  sometimes  on  a  mild  January 


THE    MORNING   FEAST 


morning  they  choose  to  pretend  that  they  are  black- 
birds, and  wake  us  with  a  descant  only  a  little  less 
beautiful  than  the  blackbird's  note.  When  they  fly 
down  to  their  breakfast  they  do  not  disturb  the 
sparrows  ;  but  the  robins  will  not  consent  to  eat  in 
their  company,  and  retire  sullenly  to  their  dens, 
whence  their  bright  eyes  watch  the  intruders  in 
jealous  impatience.  Then  the  blackbirds  hurry  up  at 
the  last  moment  to  get  what  remnants  they  can  find  ; 
a  tomtit  or  two  and  a  bullfinch  join  them  in  nervous 
dread  of  the  consequences,  and  a  solitary  thrush 


310  FEBRUARY 

hovers  near  to  snatch  the  crumbs  which  the  wasteful 
starlings  have  scattered  far  and  wide.  I  believe  it 
is  said  that  the  blackbirds  are  driving  the  thrushes 
out  of  gardens,  and  it  is  certainly  true  that  every 
year  the  thrushes  are  fewer  and  their  song  is  rarer. 
Probably  within  a  measurable  distance  of  time  we 
shall  make  excursions  into  the  fields  to  listen  to 
them  by  day,  as  we  do  now  to  hear  the  nightin- 
gale on  a  warm  night  in  May. 

And  lastly  to  the  scene  of  the  feast  come  the 
rooks,  though  not  to  eat.  They  circle  high  above 
the  table,  not  daring  to  approach  the  house,  and 
they  perch  in  neighbouring  trees,  cawing  mournfully 
for  the  joys  which  cannot  be  theirs.  Sad  it  is  to 
look  into  happiness  through  another  bird's  eyes, 
and  this  sadness  seems  ever  the  portion  of  the  rook 
colony,  which  flies  a  long  distance  only  to  behold  a 
feast  devoured  by  lesser,  bolder  birds.  But  there 
are  turnips  yet  to  be  had  in  the  fields,  and  the 
winter  will  not  be  a  long  one,  for  the  starlings  have 
told  us  so  ;  and  presently  the  rooks  will  have  it  all 
their  own  way,  and  will  make  the  world  noisy  with 
their  clamorous  family  life.  For  the  twigs  of  the 
wych  elms  are  big  with  purple  knobs,  and  the 
earliest  snowdrops  are  pushing  bravely  through  the 
snow,  and  the  honeysuckles  are  bursting  into  gay, 
green  leaf,  and  the  heart  of  Nature  is  throbbing 
beneath  her  winter  garment.  And  presently  she 
will  awake  from  her  long  sleep,  refreshed  and  ready 
for  new  efforts  of  beauty  and  tenderness  ;  and  the 
flowers — her  children — will  lie  in  her  lap,  rejoicing 
because  spring  has  given  them  life  again. 

Perhaps,  after  all,   the  portion  of  the  watching 


FEBRUARY  311 

rooks  is  not  all  unhappiness  or  envy.  Who  knows 
that  they  do  not  take  pleasure  in  the  plenty  of  other 
birds  more  fortunate  than  themselves?  Why  should 
the  best  virtues  be  attributed  only  to  the  human, 
and  denied  to  the  lower  animal  creation  ?  Happi- 
ness must  always  be  beautiful  to  look  on,  wherever 
it  may  be. 

Yet  the  happiness  of  those  we  love  is  so  sacred 
that  it  may  hardly  be  dwelt  upon.  Since  yesterday 
it  has  been  my  part  to  dwell  beneath  the  same  roof 
with  a  man  who  indeed  says  nothing,  or  almost 
nothing,  about  a  great  felicity  that  is  his  after  many 
days  of  anxious  fear  and  hope,  but  whose  joy-lit 
eyes  betray  his  happiness.  And  Magdalen  comes 
and  whispers  in  a  broken  voice,  and  tells  me  how 
she  loved  him  but  feared  that  he  would  never 
speak,  until  a  chance  word,  a  touch  unlocked  for, 
swept  away  pride's  barrier  and  loosed  his  tongue, 
and  in  a  moment  came  paradise.  Even  one  of 
life's  onlookers  may  feel  strangely  moved  at  the 
sight  of  such  happiness  as  theirs. 


INDEX 


Abol  syringe,  70 
Achimenes,  187-91,  295 
Aconite,  winter,  293 

what  soil  to  plant  in,  293 

Ageratum,  25,  144 
"Agricultural  depression,"  259 
Alfred,  King,  289 
Alkanet,  blue,  94 

—  Italian,  98 
Allium,  white,  181 
Alstromeria,  yellow,  119 
Amaryllids,  9 

Anacharis,  abnormal  appearance 

of,  229 

Anchusa  italica,  94,  98 
/And  I'm  not  loving  you  now," 

199 
Anecdotes  of  dogs,  154 

-  garden  boys,  43 
a  new-comer,  288 

-  parsons,  134,  198,  255 
a  porter,  196 

a  Roman  coin,  271 

Anemones,  5 

—  crown,  29 

—  fulgenS)  222 

—  and  standard  roses,  30 
Angler,  the  Compleat,  202 
Animals,  The  Colours  of,  236 
Annuals,  autumn-sown,  1 54 

—  thinning  of,  69 

Ant,  the  leaf-cutting,  239 
Antirrhinum,  101,  148,  219 

—  snow  queen,  148 
Aphis,  70 


Aquilegia,  33 
Arabis  albida,  27 
Artillery  plants,  9 
Arums,  187,  253 
Ashes,  detrimental,  173 
Asparagus  fern,  dwarf,  187 
Asphodels,  5 
Asters,  145 

—  herbaceous,  33 
Auricula,  92 
Avens,  water,  73 

—  scarlet,  98 
Azaleas,  189 

Balsam,  10 

Basil,  197 
-  poems  by,  225 

Baskets,  hanging,  plants  for,  75, 
189 

Beasts,  mimicry  of,  234 

Bedding  plants,  not  kept  in  green- 
house, 1 88 

Beds,  to  improve,  80 

Begonias,  38,  187,  191,  221,  253, 
295 

—  tuberous,  296 
Berberis,  7 

Bethlehem,  star  of,  6,  100 
Birds,  feeding  the,  310 
Blackbirds,  309 
Bluebells,  in 

Book,  my  first,  203 
Borage,  98 
Botrytis  cinerea,  75 
Bouncing  Bet,  78 


312 


INDEX 


313 


Bouvardia,  189 
Bracken,  how  useful,  13 
Broom,  i 
Buds,  chrysanthemum,  152 

—  crown,  152 

-  retaining  of,  152 

-  terminal,  152 
Budding,  130 

Bulbs,  arrangement,  of  for  rooms, 

181 
Bulbs,  cheapness  of  many,  171 

-  hints  to  ensure  success,  174 

-  in  plunge,  176 

-  mainstay  of  the  winter  garden, 
170 

-  more  expensive.  178 

—  potting  soil  for,  172 

—  proportion  of  yearly  expendi- 
ture on,  171 

—  treatment    of,   when   finished 
flowering,  182 

—  what  selection  to  obtain  for  a 
guinea,  178 

—  when  to  plant  out,  176 

—  worthless  varieties  noted,  278 
Bulbous  saxifrage,  73 
Bullfinch,  309 

Buttercup,  Bermuda,  283 

Cacti,  187 

Caddis  worms,  230 

Calceolarias,  163,  286 

—  cuttings  of,  164 

—  how  to  plant  out,  164 

—  require  shade,  164 
Calendula  officinalis,  206 
Caliban,  88 

Calla,  190 

Calla  Richardias,  172,  183,  253 
Callas,  yellow,  9 

Camberwell    Cadger,    the    Con- 
verted, 158 
Campanula,  287 

-  chimney,  36 

—  cup  and  saucer,  36 
Camp,  Roman,  tradition  of,  271 
Candytuft,  Debbie's,  81,  154 


Cannas,  149,  286 
Canterbury  bells,  8,  94,  98 
"Cap  in  shreds,  a,"  157 
Carnations,  layering  of,  130,  132 

-  Margaret,  116,  219 

—  —  when  to  sow,  306 

—  replanting  of,  294 

-  thinning  of,  115 
Caterpillars  that  imitate  snakes, 

239 

Caterpillar,  the  geometer,  229 
Cerura  vinula,  239 
"  Chant  outside  the  window,  the," 

263 

Cherry  lanterns,  288 
Child,  the  modern,  223 
Chinese  pinks,  when  to  sow,  306 
"Choir-boys,"  135 
Christine,  the  Sorrows  of,  203 
Christmas  roses,  187, 209,  221, 253 

-  to  replant,  71 
Chrysanthemums,  172,  187,  190, 

191,  192,  219,  220,  243,  247,  253, 

285 

—  Carnot,  Madame,  220 

-  Davis,  Charles,  219 

—  Golden  Gate,  220 

—  Gruyer,  Monsieur,  220 

—  Mease,  Mrs.,  220 

—  Pearson,  R.  H.,  220 

—  Phoebus,  220 

—  Silver  Cloud,  220 

—  Viviand  Morel,  219 

—  Warren,  G.  J.,  220 

—  number  of  blooms  desirable, 
220 

-  propagation  of,  277,  307 
Church,  the,  275 

Cinerarias,  38,  113,  114,  172,  187, 

190,  244,  246,  252 
Clarkia,  82,  146 
Clematis  languinosa,  96 

—  Lady  Caroline  Neville,  96 

—  montana,  280 

—  combined  with  pinks,  96 
Clifford,  Magdalen,  112,  113,  169, 

170 
"  Climbing  roses,"  93 


INDEX 


Colour  in  borders,  choice  of,  95 
Columbine,  6,  98 

—  reversion  to  primitive  type,  208 
Comfrey,  98 

Commelina  celestis,  25,  144,  145, 

147 
Commons  and  heaths,  137 

—  cultivation  of,  by  monks,  138 
Coot,  55 
Coreopsis  grandiflora,  95,  207,  219 

—  lanceolata,  208,  219 

—  whether  true  perennials,  208 
Cosmos,  144 

"  Cottage  and  annexe,"  15 
Cottage    Hospital,    Oldborough, 

254 

Cowslips,  74 
Crambe  cordifolia,  99 
Crinum  longifolium,  9 
Crocuses,  27,  222 

—  how  to  grow,  176 

—  Mont  Blanc,  176 
Cuckoo,  the,  48 

—  day,  27 

-  eggs  of  the,  54 

—  flowers,  74 

-  Milton's  opinion  of  the,  59 

-  nests,  varieties  of,  used,  49 
"  Cuckoo,  the,"  58 

"Cuckoo,    young,    ejecting    his 

foster-brethren,"  53 
Cunnigaw  Hill,  242 
Curate,  the,  134 

-  the  new,  198 

Cuttings    of    fibrous -rooted   be- 
gonias, 38 

pelargoniums,  92 

zonal,  n,  191 

rose,  162 

how  and  when  to  make, 

163 

all  kinds   163 

Cyclamens,  35,  36,  172,  186,  187, 
190,  253,  305 

—  Persian,  151 

-  how  to  treat,  152 
Cytisus,  190 


Daddy  King's  ghost,  272 
-  tradition  of,  272 
"Daffodils  in  the  wild  garden,"  32 
Daffodils,  list  of  (vide  Narcissi) 

-  28,  31,  32,  171,  279 

Dahlia,  13,  14,  115,  149,  219,  222, 
286 

-  when  to  propagate,  305 
Daisies,  double  white,  193 

—  Michaelmas,  206 

-  ox-eyed,  74 

-  red,  34 
Daniel,  124 
Danvers,  William,  273 
Darwinism,  241 

Day  of  the  Unconquered  Sun,  the, 

242 

Delphinium,  115,  286 
Dianthus,  306 
—  chinensis,  92,  146 

—  deltoides,  72 

-  when  sown,  285 
Doll's-house,  Ibsen's,  226 
Doronicum,  98 

-  Harpur  Crewe,  77 

—  yellow,  33,  77 
"Doronicums in agrassy  place,"  34 
Dried   flowers,   arrangement    of, 

288 
"Ducks  and  hens,  and  a  pig  or 

two,"  69 
"Dungin5  time,"  221 

"  Eats   all    the    blooms   he    can 

reach,"  118 
Echinops  ritro,  149 
Editha,  272 
Elizabeth  and  her  German  Garden, 

101 

Elms,  wych,  310 
Enclosure  Acts,  143 
Erigeron,  115 

Eryngium  Oliverianum,  149 
Erylhronium  citrinum,  280 
Eschscholtzia,  selection  of  colours, 

145 

—  mandarin,  148 


INDEX 


315 


"Evening  primroses  in  the  wild 
garden,"  119 

120 

-  ocnothera  biennis,  1 20 

speciosa,  120 

-  taraxacifolia,  120 

—  —  —    Youngii,  120 
"Everywhere    there    are   spring 

bulbs,"  3 
Expenditure,  hints  on,  171 

"  Fat  bacon-pig,  the,"  216 
February  fill  dyke,  307 
Ferns,  34 

—  adder's-tongue,  73 

—  asparagus,  dwarf,  187 

—  grown  with  bulbs,  34 
Fertiliser,  Clay's,  174 
Flax,  blue,  98 

Flowers,    cut,    to    obtain,    from 
October  to  March,  188 

-  how  to  pack,  287 

—  yellow,  95 
Folk  land,  143 

"  Folk  land,  remnants  of,"  141 
Foresight,  necessary,  206 
Forget-me-not,  6,  193 
Foxglove,  2,  5,  98 

—  yellow,  6 

Frames,  cleaning  of,  183 

-  contents  of,  187 

-  substitute  for,  14 

Freesia,  150,  151,  187,  190,  246, 

253 

—  how  to  treat,  1 5 1 

—  when  to  plant,  1 50 
Fritillary,  6,  38 
Fuchsias,  187,  189 
Fumigator,  X-L  All,  the  best,  175 
Funkia  grandiflora,  119 

-  287 

Gaillardia,  94 
Galanthus  Elwesii,  293 

—  Forsteri,  293 

—  nivalis,  292 
Gamlt  Norge",  205 


Garden  thai  I  Love,  106 

ardeners,  17 

ardening,  books  on,  101 

eraniums,  n,  244,  246 
Geum,  72 

—  chiloense,  78 

—  miniatum,  78 
Gladioli,  26,  38,  149,  222 
Gloire  de  Lorraine,  253 
Gloxinias,  187,  191,  295,  296 
Godetia,  82,  146 

Good  old  days,  the,  258 

Good  Words  for  the  Voting,  205 

Grass,  24,  77 

-  best  method  to  plant  in,  5 

—  flowers  suitable  to  plant  in,  98 
Grasshoppers,  239 
Greenhouse,  186 

-  heating  of,  186,  223 

—  size  and  arrangement  of,  186 

-  small,  plants  to  select  in,  246 
"Griskin,  Mr,  the  butcher,"  195 
Gypsophila  paniculata,  1 49 

Hanging  baskets,  plants  for,  75, 

189 

Hannah  Snell,  276 
Happiness,    pleasure    to    watch, 

3ii 

"Happy  Jack,"  269 

Harris  lilies,  174,  296 

-  hints  on  treatment  of,  175 
"  Haymaking,"  99 
Heather,  i 

"  Height  of  a  sha-a-ft,  the,"  122 
"  He  sank  into  the  nearest  chair," 

297 

Heliotrope,  150 
Herald  Moth,  the,  231 
Herbaceous  garden,  286 
Hollyhock,  102 
Holly,  sea,  92 
Honesty,  288 
Honeysuckle,  310 
Hornet,  238 

—  clear-winged  moth,  238 
Hyacinth,  28,  29,  279 


INDEX 


Hyacinth,  azureum^  279 

—  children's  miniature,  179 

-  Dutch,  178 

-  grape,  279 

-  General  Havelock,  34 

—  Heavenly  Blue  grape,  279 

—  Italian,  32,  182,  279 

-  Lord  Derby,  34 

-  Roman,  172,  181,  221,  244 

—  Spanish,  6 

—  the  white  wood,  74 
Hyacinths  and  narcissi,  combina- 
tion of,  34 

Hygrometer,  99 

Iris,  72 

—  foetida,  149 

—  laevigata,  9 

—  Spanish,  100,  120,  209 
Ivy-leaved  pelargonium,  189 
"  In  ma  pawket,"  133 

"  Interestin'  part  of  the  country 

this,"  289 
"  Intruder,  an,"  77 
"  Is  it  me  you  want  to  see?"  213 
"  I've  figured  it  all  out,"  23 
"  I've  seen  a  pig  in  a  garden,"  21 

"Janniveer,"  221 
"Jerry-builder,  the,"  78 
Jervis,  Mr.,  167,  234 
Jim,  14,  39,  60,  112,  154,  169,  193, 

248 
Jonquil,  178 

Ladybird,  238 

Laing,  Mrs.  John,  116 

Lammas  Day,  137 

Larkspur,  8 

Laurel,  7 

"  Lean  countryman,  a,"  86 

"Learned  entomologist,"  a,  235 

Lilacs,  91 

Lilies,  Madonna,  75,  100,  116 

when  to  transplant,  153 

Lilium  candidum,  153 
Linum  narbonnense,  94 


Lily,  arum,  187 

—  of  the  valley,  280 

Fortin  s,  282 

Lobelia,  blue,  75 
London  pride,  73 
Lungwort,  4 

Lupin,  perennial,  33,  98 

—  yellow  tree,  97 
"  Lydia  Die,"  39 

Magdalen,  112,  169,  247,  311 
"Maid  Marian  and  Friar  Tuck," 

63 

Manure  water,  252 
Maria,  124 
Marigold,  145,  287,  306 

—  Legion  of  Honour,  145 

—  orange  pot,  206 

May  Day,  celebration  of,  60 
"May  I.  C.  U.  home,  my  dear?" 

45 

Meconopsis  wallachii^  9 
Meshach,  199 
Meshach's  mother,  200 

-  treasure,  2 1 1 

Mice,  how  to  circumvent,  221 
Mignonette,  how  to  sow,  208 
Morning  feast,  the,  309 
Morina,  80 
Moulton,  Mr.,  226 
Mountain  snow,  27 
"  Moving  orator,  a,"  159 
Mumby,  Mr.,  234 
Mummers,  261 

-  play,  262 

Muscaris,  181,  253,  279 
"My  cousin,  Mr.  Jervis,"  167 

"  My  name  is  Mister  Gray,"  267 

Nancy,  248 

Narcissi,  list  of,  177,  279 

Narcissus,  Bazelman  Major,  177 

—  Bulbocodium,  180 

-  Cynosure,  27,  31,  171,  279 

—  Double  Roman,  174,  187,  221, 
245,  253,  279 

—  Emperor,  180 


INDEX 


317 


Narcissus,  Figaro,  31,  180,  279 

-  Golden  Spur,  180,  279 

—  Grand  Monarque,  177 

-  Hoop  Petticoat,  180 

—  Horsefieldii,  180,279 

—  Incomparabilis,  178,  279 
Bacon  and  Eggs,  279 

—  Johnstoni    Queen    of    Spain, 
1 80 

-  Leedsii  Amabilis,  178 

-  Mont  Cenis,  178 

-  Mrs.  Langtry,  180 

—  Obvallaris^  279 

—  Orange  Phoenix,  34,  178 

—  paper  white,    173,    l87,    221, 
253 

—  Poeticus  Ornatus,  178,  279 

-  Polyanthus,  177 

—  Princeps,  279 

-  RugulosuS)  279 

—  SpuriuS)  279 

—  Stella,  279 

-  Sulphur  Phoenix,  179 

—  Van  Sion,  178 
Narcissus,  easily  grown,  179 
Natural    protection    of    insects, 

231 

Nemesia  Strumosa  Suttoni,  144 
Nightingales,  80,  310 
"Nightingale,  the,"  81 
"Night-jar,  the,"  51 
"  Not  from  their  moother,"  125 

CEnothera  biennis,  120 

-  speciosa,  120 

—  taraxacifolia,  80,  120 

-  Youngii,  120 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Ghost,  don't  'ee  hurt  I !" 

301 

Orchids,  74 

Oxalis  Bermudiana,  283 
Ox-eyed  daisy,  the,  74 

Paeonies,  Chinese,  284 

-  European,  2 
Pansies,  91,  207 

—  maize-coloured,  144 


Pansies,  tufted,  95 

-  white,  143 

Parishioners,  rights  of,  139 
Parish,  the,  272 

—  registers,  276 
Pelargoniums,  92,  149,  286,  295 

-  fancy,  187,  191 

-  ivy,  75 

—  zonal,  11,  38,  172, 187, 189, 190, 
221,  243,  296 

—  varieties  of,  Jacoby,  191 

Lucrece,  191 

Mikado,  191 

-  Nicholas  II.,  191 

-  Puritan,  191 

Sunbeam,  191 

Volcanic,  191 

Pentstemon,  165 

—  barbatus,  Torreyi,  219 

—  cyananlhuS)  96 

—  hybrid,  165,  287 

—  J affray  anus,  96 

—  procerus,  95 
Perennials,  hardy,  98 
Petunia,  82,  169,  226,  254,  289 
"  Petunia,"  83 

Petunias,  25,  144,  191,  287,  306 

-  pink,  143 

Phacelia  campanularia,  144,  147 
Phlox,  91,  286 

-  Drummondi,  144,  219 
Physalis,  149 

Pinks,  91 

—  Chinese,  92,  306 

—  pheasant-eye,  98 

Plants  cleaned  for  winter,  184 

—  stakes  for,  1 1 5 

—  succession  of,  100 
Plumbago  larpenta,  219 
Polyanthus,  33 
Poppies,  Himalayan,  9 

-  Iceland,  95 

—  Nankeen,  72,  95 

—  Oriental,  2,  33,  72,  77,  92,  98> 

100,  IIS  JI20 

Portulaca,  74 


INDEX 


Potentilla,  common  yellow,  the,  72 

-  single  yellow,  98 
Potting,  preparing  for,  283 

-  soil  for,  283 
Primroses,  no 

-  Asiatic,  6 

—  evening,  120 

—  —  cenothera  biennis,  120 

—  speciosa,  120 

—  —  —  taraxacifolia,  80,  120 

Youngii,  120 

Pyrethrums,  115 

Resemblance,  aggressive,  237 

-  protective,  237 
"Revellers,"  121 
Rheum,  giant,  2 
Ridge  way,  the,  271 
Robins,  307 
Rockets,  double,  290 

—  root  division  of,  291 

—  single,  291 

-  when  to  plant,  291 

—  white,  292 
Romneya  coulteri,  9,  79 
Rooks,  310 

Roots,  how  to  store,  150 
Roses,  Christmas,  71,  209 

-  Lenten,  209 

"  Roses,  climbing,"  93 
Roses,  climbing,  93 

-  Ayrshire,  119 

-  —  Crimson  Rambler,  118 

-  Flora,  118 

-  Garland,  the,  118 

-  aphis  on,  70 

—  and  bulbs,  28 

-  to  prune,  13,  293 

-  tea,  to  prune,  27,  38 

-  standard,  282 

-  when  to  plant,  222 

-  worms  in,  70 
Roses,  list  of — 

Baroness  Rothschild,  1 1 8,  294 
Bouquet  d'or,  93 
Briars,  222 


Roses,  list  of — 

Captain  Christy,  13,  117 

Chestnut  hybrid,  93 

Clio,  117 

Countess  of  Oxford,  1 1 7 

Ella  Gordon,  117 

Eugen  Fiirst,  117 

Gloire  de  Dijon,  93 

Her  Majesty,  118 

Jean  Liabaud,  117 

La  France,  222 

Lamarck,  93 

L'Ideal,  93 

Madame  Gabrielle  Luizet,  117 

Margaret  Dickson,  117 

Marie  Baumann,  117 

Mrs.  John  Laing,  1 1 7 

Reine  Marie  Henriette,  94 

Salamander,  117 

Spencer,  118 

Ulrich  Brunner,  117,  222 

Violette  Bouyer,  1 1 7 

Williams,  A.  K.,  117 
Rustic  of  advanced  views,  the,  123 
—  the  religion  of  the,  256 

Salvia  patens,  305 
Saponaria  ocymoides,  78,  101 
Sawfly,  the,  233 
Saxifrage,  bulbous,  73 
Scillas,  6,  253 
S cilia  siberica,  177 
Seeds,  good,  important,  147 
—  how  to  order,  147 
Seraphina,  193 
"Shepherd    on    Cunnigaw    Hill 

the,"  243 
St.  John's  wort,  2 
Smilax,  187 

"  Smiling  by  the  roadside,"  155 
Snapdragons,  8,  92,  287 
Snowdrops,  181,  253,  310 

-  Galanthus  nivalis,  292 

-  Elwesti,  293 

-  Foster's,  293 
Snowflake,  6 
Sole  Wood,  227 


INDEX 


319 


Solomon's  seal,  187 
Sparmannia,  190 
Sparrows,  307 
Spiders,  239 
Spi rasas,  222 

-  longifolia,  305 
Spring,  signs  of,  295 
Squills,  27,  177,  280 

—  and  snowflakes,  280 
St.  Swithun's  Day,  120 
Stakes,  115 

—  renewed,  252 
Starlings,  309 

Statice  latifolia,  79,  149 
Statices,  79,  288 
Sterculus,  17,  297 

—  sees  a  ghost,  299 
"Sterculus  Picumnus,"  18 
Stocks,  145,  287,  304 

—  Mauve  Beauty,  304 
Sunflowers,  annual,  206 
Sweet  peas,  78,  79,  148,  153 

-  Red  Riding  Hood,  148 

varieties  of,  when  to  sow, 

294 

when  to  sow,  221 

Sweet-william,  33 
Syntri  Weg,  228 
Syringe,  Abol,  70 

Tagetes,  145,  147 

"  The  consequences  were  obvious," 

66 

"Thee  an'  I 'ool  battle,"  266 
"  This  here  sketch  is  up  to  date," 

128 

Thrushes,  310 
Tobacco  plants,  285 
"  Tommy  Sandford,"  68 
Tomtits,  309 

Touch  and  smell  in  birds,  55 
Trichiosoma  tenthedrion,  232 
Trilliums,  7 
Triteleia  uniflora,  181 
Tritonia,  96 

-  crocosmiceflora,  96 

-  Pott  si,  96 


Tubs,  189 

"  Tubs  and  hanging  baskets,"  76 

Tulips,  28,  98 

—  succession  of,  to  ensure,  176 

—  to  water,  181 

—  under  glass,  hints  on,  177 
Tulips,  list  of — 

Artus,  29 

Brutus,  29 

Chrysolora,  176,  278 

Cottage  Maid,  180 

Dusant,  180 

Due  van  Tholl,  scarlet,  6,  176, 
180,  253 

Joost  van  Vondel,  180 

La  Candeur,  176 

La  Reine,  29,  176,  280 

Mon  Tresor,  180,  278 

parrot,  74 

Pottebakker,  180,  278 

Rose  Blanche,  176 

Tournesol,  176 

Yellow  Rose,  176 
Twae-blade,  73 
"Two   naughty  girls   came   by," 

217 

Verbena,  306 

-  Lemon,  187 
Vicar,  the  new,  255 

Viola  cornuta,  82 
Violets,  284 

-  beds  to  prepare,  184 

—  for  autumn  blooming,  37 

-  how  to  treat  in  winter,  185 

-  Marie  Louise,  187,  220 

—  plentiful,  220 

-  Princess  of  Wales,  187,  220 

—  profuse  blooming,  187 

—  white,  Count  Brazza,  188 

Wallflowers,  33,  91,  192,  222 

-  varieties  of,  193 
Wasp,  238 

"  We  always  looks  after  the  sex," 

196 
Weeding,  68,  79 


320 


INDEX 


Werge,  Bill,  211 
-  his  will,  211 
Wessex,  religion  in,  256 
"  What  do  he  say,  Betty  ?  "  64 
White  weed,  73 
"White  weed  in  a  grove,"  73 
Wild  garden,  the,  6 
Winter  evenings,  how  to  employ, 
251 


Wood  hyacinth,  the,  74 
Woodpecker,  55 
Woodruff,  iii 
Wych  elms,  310 

Zauschneria  californica,  100 
Zinnias,  146 

Zonal  pelargoniums  (vide  Pelar- 
goniums 


WILLIAM    BRENDON    AND    SON,    PRINTERS,    PLYMOUTH 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


MAY  28  .542 


LD  21-100m-7,'39(402s) 


YC   ! 1 969 


M102501 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


